


Ends and Means

by Jimminy_Cricket



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Hermione Granger, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JKR holds no power here, M/M, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Multi, Not Really Character Death, Polyamory, Powerful Harry Potter, Secrets, Smart Ron Weasley, This is my sandbox now, Triad - Freeform, and I say trans rights are human rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimminy_Cricket/pseuds/Jimminy_Cricket
Summary: There are two types of secrets. One you want to keep in, the other the kind you don’t dare let out.When Vernon Dursley’s violence reaches a breaking point, the secrets Harry, Ron and Hermione have been keeping are suddenly exposed. Now with every uncovered truth comes the disturbing feeling that there are still yet more to find and that the answers may not be what anyone wants to hear.Still, the Dark Lord looms large on the horizon and if there is any hope of his defeat, it must come from an Order struggling in its command and weakened in numbers. Harry’s secrets may be the way to bring them all together, or may be the thing to shatter the resistance for good.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 77
Kudos: 281





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey! Hey, you!”

If the cousin hadn’t called out-

A useless thought, now. 

The cousin had called, and Kingsley had heard- hesitated to come out from beneath his disillusionment until the boy had cried again. 

“I know you’re there! I know you’re watching him!” 

Dudley Dursley had almost made it the yard of Number 4 when Kingsley had spotted him, half in the doorway, staring wildly into the middle distance. It was enough to reassure Kingsley that he hadn’t actually been found out- but the desperation in the boys face was- it had been- Dudley had taken another step out but kept a hand on the door, keeping it wide open behind him. From the other side of the fence, in a sheltered spot between two large hedges, Kingsley had seen the boy whip his head around at some noise within the house, seen the wide expanse of his torso rise and fall with panic. 

“He needs help!”

The call hadn’t yet been a shout, and Kingsley hadn’t allowed it to rise any further. He’d jumped the fence and revealed himself to the boy, strode across the emerald lawn in less than a dozen long strides. 

He had not been fast enough. If he hadn’t hesitated-

Another useless thought. It was done now. 

Kingsley had been working Potters protection detail for almost a week, and had been involved in the entirety of the previous summers watch. He had not been on duty when the Dementors had attacked, but he had imagined that the look on Dudley’s face might have been similar. 

Dumbledore had warned them to be on the lookout this summer, not for Dementors, but to be aware that Potter might still be recovering from his last defiance of the Dark Lord. The boy had spent the last 3 weeks of his otherwise quiet sixth year convalescing in the Hospital wing, and even still when Kingsley and the other members of the Order had watched him go from the Hogwarts Express into the custody of his Uncle, Potter had seemed weak and weary. 

A collapse, then. He had thought, following the broad figure of Dudley who ran to lead him through the kitchen. Perhaps, he had thought, an infection that Madame Pomfrey had not anticipated. A fever with delusions maybe, even a common magical illness that the muggles did not know how to treat. Dragon Pox or-

In the space between one thought and another, in the time it took to follow Dudley from the kitchen to the front room and for Kingsley eyes to follow a desperate gesture from the boy, all thoughts bar panic had left his mind. 

It had happened in an instant. 

Kingsley had stepped into the front room, looked to his left and saw Vernon Dursley standing in the front hall with a rifle shouldered and aimed into the small storage cupboard under the stairs. Aimed at Potter, sat against the far wall, cowering. 

Kingsley had raised his wand at the same time the Dudley shouted.

“Dad! Stop!”

Vernon had lurched and turned to look at his son. His expression had been crazed, and only grew wilder when he had spotted Kingsley.

“Drop the gun!” Kingsley had commanded. The Order had been under strict orders to keep magic at Number 4 to a minimum, lest they attract attention. If Dumbledore had not insisted, maybe Kingsley would have-

But he hadn’t.

“Get away from Potter, Dursley!” The thought of the man being compelled through magical means crossed his mind, but the wards- he knew the wards would have- so it must be the man himself. He couldn’t seriously- “You don’t want to do this!” He shouted. 

Kingsley had tried to threaten, to appeal to Dursley’s better judgement, and Potter had paid the price. 

“HE’S AN ABOMINATION!” Dursley had bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth. “I WONT HAVE THAT FREAK IN MY HOME! NOT A MOMENT LONGER!”

There are many spells that can be used to stop a muggle gun from working. Spells that break the mechanisms. Spells that remove bullets. Spells that would melt and destroy the metal entirely.

Those spells are useless if the bullet is fired before they can be cast. 

Kingsley had watched as Potter lifted his eyes during Dursley’s tirade. The boy had beens staring at the floor, but suddenly in that last moment had looked up. Looked beyond the looming bulk of his uncle and stared straight into Kingsleys own eyes. 

In the last moment, Kingsley would swear that the flash of the muzzle made Potters eyes brighten to the same shade of green as the killing curse. 

And now it was too late. 

Now Kingsley stood, ears ringing, staring in nauseated shame at the body of Harry Potter. Kingsley had no idea if it had been Vernons’ plan, but he had landed the shot almost squarely on Potters scar. It had sheared off the- 

Kingsley looked away. 

Beside him, Dudley turned away and retched loudly. Vernon, pale and shaking, dropped the rifle and began to mutter.  
“-finally.” The man seemed dazed. Kingsley’s grip tightened on his wand, still trained on the man, and he fought every urge surging up within him. “Finally gone. Pet will be- Dudders, he can-“

Dudley moaned. Vernon made no move to go to his son, he just kept staring at Potter’s body. “Dad-“ the boy piteously choked out. “Dad he didn’t even do anything!”

Kingsley wondered at that. Wondered at what any boy could have done to merit- and this was Potter! Did they have no idea- His hand shook. What had this man done? He would be justified if he killed him. It might even be a mercy. Dumbledore still had to be told. Still had to see-

Nausea rose but Kingsley swallowed it down. 

“Dursley.” Vernon finally turned and seemed to come back to himself. 

The fat idiot made to reach for the rifle again, but Kingsley quickly summoned it to his other hand. It was warm, and Kingsley tried not to shudder. He and Vernon stared at each other for a long moment before Kingsley could decide what to do. 

“Run.” He said. 

Vernon didn’t move and Kingsley took the opportunity to close the gap, pressing his wand to the blubberous under-hang of Dursley’s neck. 

“Run now.” Kingsley was practically growling. He could feel the white-hot rage in his chest, gathering behind his eyes. Dursley did not deserve the mercy of a quick death, and Kingsley had more pressing issues at hand. 

Vernon, perhaps for the first time in his fool life, ran. 

Dudley took a step to follow. 

“I tried to stop him.” The boy said quietly. “Harry didn’t- Dad just went mental. He’s never been this bad before, I-I tried.”

“You don’t have to go with him.” Kingsley said, desperately trying to keep his tone even. He set the gun down on the floor and tried to forget it was there. There was already one dead boy here. Once Lupin was told... Kingsley respected the man, trusted him, but he also knew what an enraged werewolf could do if unleashed.

“He’ll go to Aunt Marge’s.” Dudley offered. “Mum’s already there. I think she might have known-“ The boy swallowed. There was the sound of a car starting and his eyes widened. There was a long loud honk and Dudley shrugged, looking pained. “Harry didn’t- but, they’re my parents.” He sniffed and Kingsley saw his jaw tremble. “He’s my dad.” 

Dudley left. Kingsley heard the car tires screech as they peeled out of Privet Drive. 

As soon as he was alone, his stomach finally rebelled and he was left leaning over a decorative ficus, at an absolute loss. There were protocols, of course. Signals the Order had agreed upon. Just in case, of course. Never expecting to use them- to say them- Kingsley had seen the boy yesterday for fucks sake, nearly elbow deep in the dirt of the garden, doing chores. Hale and healthy. Breathing. Alive. 

Dead now, now that Kingsley had been too slow, too stupid. Merlin, he’d killed the Boy-Who-Lived. He’d killed Potter- Kingsley retched again. 

After another moment, Kingsley raised his head and then his wand. He could wait no longer. 

It took three tries before he could summon his Patronus, the Lynx holding still only long enough for him to mutter the code phrase before bounding out of number 4.

In the silence, Kingsley cast a spell on Potters body. Halfway between Disillusionment and a Notice-Me-Not, it was standard Auror fare for a crime scene, making the sight of the body not as- as jarring. He Vanished the vomit from the room, sat on the couch, hung his head in his hands but kept his wand clutched tightly. 

On guard still, but for what? They had guarded Potter so well from threats beyond these walls... had there ever been a thought to a threat within them?

The first pop of Apparition sounded and he took a steadying breath. 

“Here.” He said. After the noise, and then the silence, Kingsleys voice felt too loud. 

“Is it true?”

Kingsley startled. 

Albus was standing in door from the kitchen to the front room, backlit by the fresh summer sun from the kitchen window. It cast his face in a sort of half shadow, the expression matching. Kingsley could hear how desperately Albus wanted him to lie and offer up Potter like a muggle magic trick, held by the scruff of his young neck and kicking like a rabbit against the hold. An overwhelming wave of shame rose within him and Kingsley could only nod. 

Albus’s expression collapsed into despair. Kingsley couldn’t find the words to try and defend what had happened. He had failed. Failed in his duty to the Order, failed to protect a teenage boy from a damned muggle. 

“Forgive me, I-“ Kingsley stood, wiped a tired hand across his eyes and tried not to focus on how tight his chest had become. “Albus. His uncle.” Kingsley managed to say, barely. His heartbeat pounded in his head and it made him think of the boy- he almost retched again. He made an abortive gesture to the floor and the gun and Albus’ eyes followed. “The cousin called for help but I wasn’t- I didn’t-“ His voice broke. “Potter’s dead.”

“Kingsley-“ Albus’s stepped forward and the despair morphed into desperation. “I must ask you to-“ he pleaded brokenly “I must see. Please forgive me but-“ 

And suddenly, before Kingsley could say Yes Of Course or I Understand Albus Dumbledore cast Legilimens and the past half hour flew past Kingsley’s mind, beyond his control. 

Dudley’s panicked expression, the bulk of Vernon towering over Potter in the cupboard, FREAK ABOMINATION NO MORE, the flash of the gun the flash of the gun Potters eyes Potters eyes Potters eyes blood and brain and-I tried, He’s my dad, Run. Run. Run.

Dumbledore ended the spell and Kingsley found himself gasping for breath, tears running down both of their faces. 

“I’m sorry.” Kingsley whispered. “Albus- Headmaster, I am so-“

Albus turned from him and slowly, deliberately looked to his left, to the cupboard where he stared for a long moment. 

“This was not your fault.” Albus said eventually. Sadly. He did not look away from Potters concealed body and Kingsley was sure that the Headmaster could see straight through the spells he had cast. “Please, do not carry my burden as your own.”

Kingsley wanted to laugh. 

“I was on duty.” He spat. “I sat by and allowed that Muggle to- I was too slow to-“ How could Albus say it wasn’t his fault? “You weren’t here, Albus.”

“No.” Albus said softly, still staring into the dark of the cupboard. Potter’s body was reclined, his left leg outstretched enough that his scuffed trainer was the only thing left in the light of the hall. The sole was almost worn through. “No, I wasn’t.”

A silence fell that Kingsley dared not break. He waited until Albus finally broke from his reverie and tore his eyes away from Potter. 

“What comes next?” He asked. Potter was... important. The Order had never been told exactly why the Dark Lord was so obsessed with the boy, but the battle at the Ministry the year before had done nothing to quell the presumption that Potter was fated, in some way, to affect the outcome of the war. If that were the case, what did his death mean now?

“You messaged no one else?” Kingsley shook his head. Albus gave a small nod. “I will inform the rest of the Order myself. Tonight. For the moment though I’ll call for-“ he frowned and that horrible wave of despair once again crossed his features. As it did, Kingsley felt his ear pop as the pressure in the room rose and rose- “For Remus. The Weasleys must be told. Harry must be moved.” 

There was a large bay window along the front wall of the sitting room, framed by heavy floral drapes. At the word ‘moved’, the entire pane of glass exploded outward and the drapes fell in tattered shreds. The television set in the corner exploded, as did the heavy glass fronted china cabinet along the wall, each filigreed plate and saucer held within turned to powder. 

“My apologies. I will-” Albus said tightly when it was done. Shards of glass still hung in the air, floating through the sunbeams and refracting light. He raised his wand, but stopped mid-motion and then put his wand away. The destruction remained, like a bomb had gone off. 

“The wards will fall completely once Harry leaves.” Albus said, with a quick wave of his wand the glass that covered the two of them was banished. “If I may, I must ask you to remain until I’ve contacted those who must know first to act as a second set of eyes while I am... indisposed.” His expression shifted into something almost sheepish. “I’ll admit I may require your assistance with Remus, if he becomes as angry with me as he should.”

“Of course.” Kingsley wondered, though, if the Weasleys might be the bigger worry.

Albus fell silent again for a moment and Kingsley forced himself to stand at the ready. He felt bone tired, worse than he ever did even on double shifts and he longed for his armchair and a stiff drink. But he stood, waiting, ready to do whatever was left for the boy he hadn’t saved. 

“I’m going to move Harry, and then make the calls.” Albus seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Kingsley, but Kingsley nodded anyway and when Albus started toward the cupboard and did not call for help, he turned away. Tried to give Albus a moment alone with the boy.

There were the soft sounds of spells being cast and movement from the hall. Then, quietly, the sound of Albus murmuring.  
Crying.

Kingsley turned, intent to moving further away and into the kitchen, but caught the sight as he did. 

Albus had moved the boy out of the cupboard and laid him on his back in the hallway. A sheet had been summoned and placed like a shroud over the body, covering the boy’s head where Albus knelt. With one hand resting gently on Potters shoulder and the other curled into a fist at his mouth, Albus Dumbledore cried silently over Harry Potter’s lifeless body. 

Kingsley had known that Albus was fond of Potter, had been pretty certain that the Headmaster had a level of care toward the boy that was not within the normal purview of scholastic oversight. He had even thought that Albus held Harry Potter with the same regard that he did members of the Order, allies from the first war. 

He had not known that Albus loved the boy. 

Loved the boy enough to allow Remus Lupin to hold him at wand point and allow the werewolf’s rage to fly unfettered.  
“You swore to me!” Remus snarled. Kingsley stood by, watching closely. “You said it would be best, that he’d be protected! Bastard! Arrogant bastard!”

“I am, at that.” Albus agreed, his voice even and sad. “I failed, miserably. I have no excuse. I wont pretend to think my regret means anything to you, Remus, though it is true. I can only offer you one thing.”

Remus pressed forward, now barely half a foot from Albus’ face. “You cannot bring my pup back to me.” He growled. Kingsley saw his eyes flash amber and took a step forward, but Albus flapped a hand to still him.

“No, I cant.” Albus agreed, “But I can give you Vernon Dursley.”

Remus seemed to give pause at that.

“Vernon was allowed to run,” Albus said as Remus relaxed his posture. “He is with his wife and son. The boy, Dudley, tried to save Harry’s life but implicated that his mother might have known of Vernon’s plan. Dudley gave a suggestion as to where Vernon might hide first.”

“Where.” Remus demanded. Albus told him quickly.

“Spare the boy, and bring Petunia to me.” Albus continued. “I will not attempt to argue for mercy for Vernon. He deserves none.”

“And he’ll get exactly what he deserves.” Remus promised darkly. Finally he stepped away from the Headmaster, but the tension in the room remained, as did his expression. “So will you.”

Albus bowed his head. “It will have been well earned.”

Remus left a short while after that, saying nothing more to either Kingsley or the Headmaster, standing over Potters body for only a moment before going. Kingsley wondered, having seen Remus after Sirius’ death, and knowing what he did about the end of the first war and the deaths of the Potters, he wondered if Remus had any grief left to show. 

The same could not be said for Arthur. 

“He’ll go to the Burrow.” Arthur’s face was the colour of parchment, his freckles standing in stark contrast, his voice hoarse. He knelt where Albus had earlier, near Harry’s head where he stared as if he could see through the sheet that covered the boy.  
Potter had never been large in stature, whip thin and just of a height with Granger, but he seemed even smaller, younger, laying there. 

“It will be safer-“ Albus began. He and Kingsley stood in the doorway to the front room, still littered with debris. 

“I don’t give a damn!” Arthur shouted, smashing a fist into the floor next to him. “He’ll go to the Burrow, Albus! I wont have you taking him to Hogwarts or, Merlin forbid, Grimmauld Place and leaving him-“ Arthur’s voice broke. He punched the floor again. “-leaving him alone in some old dusty room. He shouldn’t be alone. He deserves proper rites, Albus.” Arthur spat. “Proper rites and observances with people who love him. Family.”

Kingsley had wondered if there would have been any mention of rites. It was part of traditional wizarding funeral practices. Once a wizard had died their eyes were closed and with a combination of spells, the body was left to be visited by mourners for 3 days before the burial. 3 days, in honour of the triplet principal of magic, that three is a prime and powerful number, and with closed eyes in the belief that looking into eyes without a soul still there would curse the soul of the gazer. He knew that Lily and James had had traditional rites performed, but had wondered if circumstances would have Dumbledore choose a muggle funeral for Potter. 

Dumbledore seemed taken aback. “Of course.” He said. “Yes, of course Arthur. Forgive me, I- wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Arthur nodded. “He’s one of ours.” He reached out a hand and laid it on Potters chest. “One of my boys.” He choked out a breath. “God, what do I tell Molly? What do I tell her? Merlin help me, what do I tell Ron? Harry is- was-“ whatever Arthur was going to say dissolved into sobs. 

“I will not deny you the performance of Harry’s rites.” Albus said, his voice just loud enough that Arthur could hear him, but still low. “But when the Dark Lord learns of this, if he has not already, it will not be safe for Harry to remain with you on the grounds of the Burrow. The-“ Albus swallowed. “The grave must be somewhere well protected, and at the moment the safest place would be Hogwarts.”

Arthur took a shaky breath. “Alright.” He said. “I can- I can understand that.”

“Kingsley,” Albus said, pulling him out of his thoughts. He faced the Headmaster who still, to his shame, did not seem to blame him. “Will you please let the Order know that there will be an emergency meeting tonight.”  
He nodded. There would be questions, but he could find reasons to deflect.

“I’ll go now.” Kingsley offered. Selfishly, the thought of going to the Burrow, of watching Potters friends- It was too much. Today was too much.

Thankfully, Dumbledore just nodded him away. 

The sun was still shining when he left Number 4, a bright and beautiful June morning. Blue skies and songbirds, Kingsley mused, a tidy garden and a quiet street could hide so much. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Molly hummed along with the wireless as she set the pans from breakfast to soak and scrub with a flick of her wand and turned back to the long kitchen table where her shopping list lay waiting. The children had come home from school not even two weeks ago, but practice meant that Molly knew to start her bargain hunting and budgeting now. Decades of experience had taught her to deal with her household strategically, no child left without and hopefully with enough left over for a few small indulgences. 

From overhead there was a low thud and Molly paused, waiting for the inevitable cry of ‘Mum!’, or the sounds of her children squabbling. 

She had a full house at the moment, nearly. Bill was back at home, and with him came Fleur. The engagement announcement had been- sudden, and the assertion that they would be sleeping in the same room while still unmarried- difficult, but Molly felt that despite a slightly rocky start she was finally starting to come to understand her future daughter-in-law. 

Charlie was still in Romania, working for the Order doing who-knows-what but sending regular letters and the Twins were splitting time between the Burrow and their flat above their business in Diagon. That had been another rocky adjustment, but Molly truly couldn’t have been prouder. She’d always known that whatever they went onto after Hogwarts would be... different, she had only wished that they would have actually finished school before beginning. 

Ron and Ginny were still at home, obviously and Percy- Well, she hadn’t heard from her middle child in over a year. Arthur saw him occasionally at the Ministry but it wasn’t the same. Whatever wound had opened up between Percy and the rest of the family, Molly had no idea how to patch. There was no special Mummy’s kiss to magic the pain away. 

When the crash produced no further noises, nor screaming, nor the sound of running or chasing or hexing, Molly was content to relax and let it be. 

It took her no time at all to sort out the weekly shop and to jot down a reminder to head to Madame Malkin’s the following Wednesday to see about school robes. Ron was heading into his last year, and the thought of it made Moly’s head spin. Her littlest boy, taking his NEWTS. 

Hopefully, she reminded herself. Ron would hopefully take his NEWTS, and not be swept into the fighting too soon. It was too much to wish, she knew, for Ron not to follow along in his brother’s and father’s footsteps, but she did dream that perhaps by some miracle that the war would finish and allow their children to just be children again. If maybe Harry could-

A silver flash derailed her thoughts and her heart sped when she saw it was Arthur’s patronus flying through the window. Instinctively she looked to the family clock, now shrunk and always within arms reach.

Arthur’s hand was on the move, but she was relived to see that it was just drifting from WORK to OUT. Nowhere near to IMMINENT PERIL.

Arthur’s voice came from the sleek silver weasel. “Out on business, Mollywobbles. Called in by an old friend, he’s worried about the plans for All Hallows’ Eve. I’ll be home when I know more.”

Molly felt herself pale. All Hallows’ Eve was the phrase the Order decided upon to signal if Harry was in danger, more than danger, if he was- The world seemed to narrow. She stood from the table and immediately began summoning her potions bag and healers kit to her. It was impossible, but that was what Arthur had said. Called by an old friend, Dumbledore, who was worried that Harry was what? Hurt. It must be that Harry had been attacked. Wounded severely at the worst, surely!

Molly grabbed the family clock and quickly dashed to the living room, to be closer to the fireplace if Arthur had to floo with Harry. She had enough potions, she was sure, if not to heal than to at least stabilize what was needed before an actual healer could be called. 

With no time to waste, she transfigured the couch into a raised bed, pushed Arthur’s armchair and the wingback she’d inherited from her mother into the corner- sent the rest of the cushioned stools and pillows flying until the room was clear. She transfigured the coffee table into a hasty taller sideboard and with shaking hands double checked the contents of each bag, then checked again.

“Mum, I was-“ Molly jumped, she hadn’t heard Bill and Fleur come down the stairs. Bill spotted her potions bag and immediately came to her side. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is it dad?” He asked in a rush.

Molly shook her head. “The Headmaster called him at work.” She said quietly and gestured for Fleur, who was looking at her with concern, to move away from the stairs. 

When the coast was clear Molly cast Silencio and a barrier spell on them. It was a common spell for mothers with toddlers, a soft barrier that would alert when someone tried to cross. Ron and Ginny were upstairs, and Molly didn’t want them walking in on-  
“Your father sent a message saying it was All Hallows’ Eve.” Fleur gasped and Bill winced. “I’m just so worried. Harry’s only just recovered-“ to her embarrassment, Molly hiccuped and started to cry. “I saw him in the Hospital Wing, Bill. He puts on such a brave face-”

Bill draped an arm around her shoulders and held her, which only made Molly cry harder. Who was this man? Where was her baby boy? She was the one meant to give the hugs. 

“I know, mum. Come on, here, sit.” He said. He turned Arthurs armchair slightly, so Molly had just enough room to squeeze in and sit down. 

Fleur watched for a moment before giving a decisive nod. “I will put ze kettle on.” She said, and went straight to the kitchen. 

Molly sniffled, but managed a watery smile up at her eldest. “You’ll make an Englishwoman of her yet.”

Bill’s smile was crooked as he squeezed her shoulder. “Me? That’s all you.” He said. Molly watched as he scanned the room. “Did dad say they were coming here?”

“No.” She admitted. “He said he’d come home when he knew more. But I couldn’t stand the thought of not being ready in case they did. If Harry needed-“ Molly had to take a deep breath to steady her heart. “I worry that we’re all he has, sometimes. I know I’m not his mother. I’m just his best mates mum and I have no right to think that I have- But, oh I’m not making any sense.” Molly wished she could stop babbling. 

“It’ll be ok.” Bill tried to reassure her. He sat on the arm of the chair and rubbed her back in gentle circles, the same way she had done for so many years. But the soothing pattern and comforting words did nothing to quell the growing fear within her. If she indulged in that selfish part of her that she tried so hard to keep at bay she would say that it was Mother’s intuition, screaming at her that something was very, very wrong. 

Fleur came back with tea and the three of them waited on tenterhooks. Ten minutes. Twenty. Ron and Ginny were still quiet upstairs. Another ten minutes and a new pot of tea and no word.

Finally, Arthur’s patronus appeared. It made a quick circuit in the air, flitting from Bill to Fleur, and then came to float in front of Molly.

Molly had been in love with Arthur Weasley for more than half of her life, now. Had been with him, together in friendship, new love, marriage, parenthood and partnership- for decades. Molly knew from the moment the message began and she heard his voice, without having to hear the words themselves, what Arthur was going to say.

“All Hallows’ Eve. It’s true. We’re on the way, darling-“

Molly laid her head into her hands and sobbed. Bill swore, and Fleur made a pained noise. 

“-bringing him home, now. I love you.”

Molly fought against every heaving sob to breathe. She forced herself up, onto her feet, but Bill caught her arm.

“Mum-“ He let her go when she pulled away, then reached for Fleur who went into his arms easily, burying her head in his shoulder. 

“I can’t-“ she clutched at her chest, tried to press a hand against her heart as if it would keep it from flying from her chest.  
Whatever she meant to say was forgotten with the sound of apparation. 

Molly ran from the room and straight to the door to the yard. Arthur was there, and Dumbledore, but Molly could focus on nothing but the shape levitated before them. 

It didnt look like Harry, she thought numbly. Her knees buckled and she had to cling to the door jamb to stay on her feet. It didnt even really look like a body, this way. The sheet was white, draped up and over, long enough to skim the grass as Arthur and Dumbledore marched solemnly across the yard to the house. 

Molly didnt realize she was making noise until Arthur was there, pulling her into an embrace and muffling her cries into his shoulder. She fell into his hold and the two of them stood to the side as Dumbledore levitated Harry’s body into her home, led by Bill into the living room.

Fleur, bless her, had rearranged the room. The hospital bed had been transfigured into a narrow padded table, the armchairs moved to allowed comfortable sitting, the other stools moved and available. The potions were put away. 

Harry was laid on the table, still covered, and when Molly went to remove it- she wanted desperately to hold the boys hand- Arthur stopped her. 

“A head wound.” He croaked out. Molly felt herself freeze. “It’s- Darling, I don’t think you should. Not yet. It’s not-“

“What happened?” She pleaded, her hands hovering over Harry’s shoulder, his chest, his small frame outlined underneath the sheet. It was that bad? Bad enough she couldn’t even see his face? “Headmaster, please- how?”

Dumbledore stood with her and Arthur at Harry’s side, staring solemnly. He did not lift his eyes as he told her of Kingsley and the cousin and the gun. From the first word, Molly didn’t want to listen. She couldn’t bear to hear- there was no choice, though, but to hear the truth she had demanded. Only when he was finished did he look at her, shamefaced. 

“I have been a fool.” He said simply. Molly had never seen him so distraught. “I do not know how-“ again, he looked away but soon returned his gaze to Harry as if compelled. He seemed to gather some resolve. “I must go. There will be a meeting tonight and there is much to do before then. When I relay the news the Order I have no doubt they will wish to pay their respects, and though Arthur has made his opinions very clear-“

Molly caught the implication quickly.

“Harry has always been welcome here. Always.” She said, her voice thick. Arthurs arm, draped around her, was a welcome weight to bolster her. “That wont be changing any time soon.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Thank you.” He said earnestly, then after a moments hesitation continued. “If I may, I would like to sit Vigil for the rites.”

Molly was at once surprised and understanding.

The thought of not hosting the rites for Harry hadn’t ever crossed her mind. Harry hadn’t any magical relatives and though Remus was as close a proxy to his parents as could be found, Remus had no fixed address, no space to cleanse and ward and hold for the three days necessary. Sitting Vigil was one of the ancient practices, a mourner who would sit with the body and neither sleep nor eat, nor cast any magic until the deceased was buried as a marker of grief. It wasn’t the common practice, most mourners would simply spend time with the departed, make a small offering perhaps or if they were particularly affected, continue to return each day until the rites were completed. 

Molly hadn’t even sat Vigil for her parents, when they died. Nor her brothers. 

“Of course.” Arthur said when Molly could only manage a watery-eyed nod. “Of course, sir.”

Dumbledore gave a small bow. “I appreciate the hospitality. A message will be sent about tonight’s meeting.”

“I’ll be staying with Harry.” Molly said quickly. Arthur and the boys would tell her anything she missed. 

The Headmaster smiled tightly. “Thank you.” He said. 

Then, he left. 

Molly felt Dumbledore’s absence acutely. Without the man, it all felt- it seemed- No one spoke for a long time, the four of them stood around the body. Molly tried to think if any of her children had ever attended a set of rites and could only remember when Arthurs mother had died. Ron had been a babe in arms, Bill had been, what- ten? Maybe? 

“We have to tell Ron.” Bill said quietly, as if he knew her thoughts. Molly turned and saw him standing a little ways away with Fleur. Both were pale. “Ginny, too. Hermione. They- they need to know now.”

Molly’s chest tightened painfully, both from pride in her thoughtful boy and in the prospect of what she knew was next.

Fleur nodded “I can go fetch zem.” She offered. 

Molly shook her head. “No, I should- I should explain before they see-“ she trailed off. Before they saw the body of their dead friend? The body of the boy as good as a brother? 

Not every part of motherhood was good. How could she ever guide her children through this, when she did not know how to navigate the waters herself? 

She made an abortive reach toward Harry but stopped, then left the living room. Arthur let her go with one last squeeze. The barrier and silencing spells fell as she made the trek up. Up and up to Ginny’s room, but found it empty. Maybe that was best, she thought as she moved on to Ron’s room. Ron had been Harry’s first friend, maybe he should be the first to know. She would look for Ginny in the twins room next. Ginny had been helping the two with new products, despite Molly’s objections.

Molly went to Ron’s room and knocked quietly before opening the door (half expecting two little boys, twelve years old, twin mattress and camping cot pressed together, one head of red hair and one of black-) but found something else entirely.  
Ginny, laid out on her back in the middle of Ron’s room under a full Body Bind curse, eyes darting wildly. Molly gave a shriek. 

“Ginny!” Molly cried. “Merlin, Ginny what happened?” She cast the counter curse even as she knelt to gather her daughter in her arms. There was a thunderous roar from the stairway behind her, the race of footsteps.

“Mum!” Ginny panted. 

“Molly!” Arthur cried, cresting the top of the stairs, followed closely by Bill, wands drawn. His eyes fell to Ginny, who was squirming against Mollys hold. “What?”

“Someone’s in the house!” Molly exclaimed. What else could it be? Someone had breached the wards- attacked her daughter- “Someone cast a body bind on Ginny.”

“No, Mum- it-“

“Hominem Revelio!” Bill was quick to act, a pulse of magic extending from his wand that would reveal any persons hidden from view.

Ginny kept squirming and Molly kept a firm hand on her arm. “Arthur I couldn’t find Ron-“ she started to say. 

“It was Ron!” 

Molly froze.

“What do you mean, Gin?” Bill pressed. “Ron attacked you?”

Molly let go of Ginny’s arm and watched as her daughter rubbed at the spot, but her face was a mask of confusion. 

“I came up to ask him if he wanted to go out and throw the quaffel around.” She said. “I came in, I didnt knock and then the Body Bind hit me. I thought he was fooling around, maybe just mad that I didnt knock but then he-“ Ginny frowned. “He made sure I was on my back. It was so weird... he just left! Just climbed through the window and left me there!”

Ron? Molly couldn’t understand, just kept gazing at her daughter. Ron was- gone? Left? Alone?

“Left?” Arthur asked urgently. “Did he say anything?”

“No, he just- he looked at me. Just stared a bit and then left.’” Ginny said thoughtfully. “I don’t understand. Was he imperiused?” She demanded. Molly wished she had answers, but the more Ginny said the more confused she became.

“When, Ginny?” Arthur has started casting spells while she spoke, but Molly paid them no mind. Had Ron been cursed? It seemed impossible, but so had many other things this morning. 

“I’ll look downstairs.” Bill was already on the stairs by the time Molly realized what he had said. She could hear him, distantly, calling Ron’s name. 

“I’m not sure.” Molly helped her to her feet. “Maybe an hour? It was hard to tell. I don’t understand-” She said, then narrowed her eyes. “I bet he’s gone to see Harry.” 

Molly felt like the air had left the room in one great woosh. 

“He did it in second year, so I bet he remembers how to get there. I know its a stupid idea, but you know what Ron’s like sometimes, when it comes to Harry. Right?” She asked and only then did she seem to notice all of their pallid faces. “Mum? Whats going on? What’s wrong?”

Motherhood, Molly thought again as she absently tidied her daughters mussed hair, oftentimes felt like drowning. 

Her youngest son was gone without a trace, with barely a placating word to a sister he cursed as he left. Her sixteen year old daughter, left bound and helpless for an hour, dreading the thought that her brother was acting under some Death Eater’s direction and her- the boy she had no claim to but came to care for, laid dead in her living room, murdered by a muggle. It would be easy, to just let it flow over her and sink down. 

But Molly took a breath. Then, another.


	2. Chapter 2

The door to Number 4 Privet drive lay open. It swung, buffeted by a lazy summer breeze, revealing a sliver of a view into the entryway. 

To the right, thick floral drapes caught in the same breeze blew outward from a large window casement, waving their shredded hems into the front yard. There was no longer any glass to hold them inside, and they batted hagainst the heavy heads of the hydrangeas planted below. 

Magical wards prevented any passers-by from seeing this, but Severus Snape stood on the manicured lawn and allowed himself a moment to stare as, ahead of him, Albus walked up the path. 

Potter was dead, the Headmaster had said. The end of year supply inventory Severus had been working on still lay in the store-room, abandoned at the words. 

Potter had been killed by his muggle uncle. 

It was absurd. Severus had said as much, the words flying from his mouth from the utter shock of the thought. Potter had been safe, as he had been safe for the past 15 or so years, firmly ensconced in the protective embrace of multiple wards and his muggle relatives. Potter had faced more danger at Hogwarts, a literal fortress meant for the safe-keeping of children, than he ever could have had in Surrey. 

Potter had been shot in the head. Albus had shown him the memory of Shaklebolt’s memory and Severus had seen it for himself.   
The boy had been dead before Dursley had lowered the gun. 

Severus walked, deliberately across the grass. His boots sunk into the earth, and he stepped squarely through a flowerbed on his way to the door that now was opened wide. He followed Albus, and joined him at the end of the hallway to examine where Potter had taken his last breath. 

“When you were teaching Harry Occulmancy,” Albus began. “Did you see anything that would have hinted toward this outcome?”

Severus’s spine stiffened. “I see.” Resolutely, he did not look at Albus. He let his gaze fall down to the floor of the cupboard, the splash of blood soaked into the bottom of a dog bed, left on its side and stuffed along one wall. “You think because I find Potter irritating and idiotic that I would condone his murder.” He spat. “No. I saw nothing.”

If Albus was perturbed by his tone, he did not let it show. “Nothing.”

“I told you what I saw.” Severus said flatly. And he had, had reported every ridiculous flash of Potters memory, every half remembered dream, to Dumbledore. Potter’s possible possession had brought on a level of worry Severus had rarely seen in the headmaster. “A slap, maybe two. Some unkind words. I saw nothing but-“ Severus had to think for a moment, really cast his mind back to find the word he was looking for. “Apathy, at best.”

That seemed to rankle, and Albus turned away from the cupboard and moved into what Severus presumed had been the front room. 

As Severus moved to follow he caught sight of the bullet hole. Light came through the wall, the late afternoon sun at such an angle that it looked like a star in the sky. Turning away, Severus found Albus standing in the middle of the room, a hand brought up to cover his eyes as he breathed deeply.

“Dursley could not have been Imperiused.” Albus said aloud. “The wards would not have allowed anyone under any sort of compulsion or mind altering spell to enter. When he chose to get that gun, from where I do not know, and when he chose to kill Harry, it was of his own volition. That violence cannot have come from nothing.”

“Well then,” It was logical. “Potter must have-“

“Do not-“ Albus snapped. 

Severus felt the wind pick up, felt a shard of glass sting his ear. The Headmaster took a long moment before speaking again. This time he turned toward Severus, who refused to return to feeling like a scolded schoolboy. 

“I asked you here, Severus,” Albus spoke slowly, and while half of Severus wanted to rage at being explained to, the other half recognized that clipped tone might be the Headmasters control, slipping. “For your honesty. I am- I have been blind when it comes to Harry.” He admitted, as though it had been some sort of secret to Severus. Albus’ smile was wry, wan. “I had hoped that by keeping my distance I might remain impartial but like so much I attempt, I failed in that. I am affected, deeply, by this loss and knowing this, I beg of you. Mercy.” Severus sucked in a breath, but held Albus’ eyes. He looked like a nerve, exposed. It made Severus want to look away. “For now, mercy. I know you hated Harry but he was a boy, Severus. I know you do not truly believe Harry could have done anything to justify this.”

No. Severus had to concede it. Potters death was- ugly. Vicious. Even at his most ridiculous, Severus could not have imagined Potters death for the behaviour. He was sure that Potter could have pissed in Dursley’s cornflakes and Albus would have sent him along with a weeks detention. 

Not a bullet in the brain.

“You said you wanted my honesty.” Severus said, trying to change the subject. The Headmasters attachment to the boy had not been a secret, no, but Severus would rather focus on something other than an old man’s grief. 

“Indeed.” Albus said. “I have never truly been able to see clearly when Harry was involved. Nor, I think, have you. You have believed the worst of him from the moment you met, do not try to deny it. Whether or not you feel justified for doing so, you have only ever acknowledged his faults.” There was precious little else, Severus thought, but settled for scowling. 

“I need to know exactly what went on in this house.” Albus continued. “And I cannot trust myself to examine the evidence truthfully. I need you as a counterweight, Severus. I need your honesty, and yes, your dislike of Harry to help me.” He sighed. “We both have always seen what we want to see, but I hope that we will be able to meet in the middle and perceive things as they really were.”

Severus almost asked why. Why? What good would it do? Potter was dead. Looking into the finer details of why Potter’s uncle had gone mad would not resurrect him. It seemed nothing more than a personal folly of Albus’, a distraction from the more pressing issues at hand. 

Severus had not yet been summoned, which meant the Dark Lord did not yet know that Potter was dead. Severus dreaded the summons. Unpredictable at best, he had no way of knowing how the Dark Lord would deal with his prophesied enemy being killed. Or even how the Order would react, once they learned. The whole thing spelled disaster- it opened up endless opportunities for betrayal, those who would panic thinking that all hope of defeating the Dark Lord was now gone. 

Perhaps it was. If Potter really had been the Chosen One, his death spelled doom. Every sacrifice the Order had made for the war so far, every loss they would take going forward, all rendered null and void. Potter may as well have been murdered in the cradle with his mother-

The thought gave Severus pause. He had made a promise in Lily’s memory, when she died. When his carelessness and idiocy had killed her. He had vowed to everything in his power to bring her justice, to avenge her, to right the wrong he had committed. He’d made that vow to Albus, clinging to the Headmasters robes in desperation, willing to supplicate himself in any way that would prove his sincere need to atone. He had wondered, then, if Albus Dumbledore had ever felt so desperate.

Albus was not clinging to his robes, nor was he begging, but Severus could finally answer that question. 

“You may not like what is found.” Severus said. He moved to take in the destruction of the room. Shacklebolt’s memory had been of middling quality, viewed through Albus’ memory of the original, and Severus wondered if the gunshot was the only violent act that day. Before the exploded window, of course.

From behind him, Albus spoke. “I am sure, dear boy, that will be the case regardless.”

If Severus was honest, he did not like what they found, either. More to the point, what they did not.

Nearly every wall or surface played host to at least one framed picture of a rotund blond boy. Pictures of the boy as a pudgy baby, staring vacantly out of a sailor suit that barely buttoned, of the boy in primary school, out with friends, on birthdays and holidays to the seaside. Petunia featured in many, her pinched look nearly identical as it had been in childhood. Vernon Dursley, too, took up a fair bit of photographic real estate, but his girth only gave Severus a sickening reminder of the memory, of how small Potter had looked as he tried to get away from his Uncle. 

Potter was nowhere to be found. Not even in the background of his cousin’s parties. There was no evidence that Potter even lived in the house until Severus and Albus made their way upstairs, and then the evidence was damning.

A door with three locks, and a cat flap near the baseboard. 

A deadbolt. A chain lock. A latch with a padlock. 

On the outside. 

Severus had to duck when the padlock came hurtling off of the latch, the wood splintering when Albus brandished his wand with the strongest Alohamora Severus had ever seen. 

They nudged their way in, the door giving way easily to Potter’s bedroom. It was... sparse. The bedding mismatched and thin, the bed made with hospital corners even Madame Pomfrey could not fault. There was one tall, shabby wardrobe in one corner and a spindly narrow desk in the other. The only thing on the desk was an owl cage, sitting empty. Potter’s trunk was at the foot of his bed, his wand sat atop it. 

Albus took Potters wand, stowing it in a pocket. A wizard was buried with his wand, according to tradition, and Severus was sure Albus would do nothing less for the boy.

Standing in Potters bedroom, Severus felt at odds. It was exactly as he’d seen in Potter’s memories. Even he could admit that he had misjudged how little love there was for Potter in this house, but he had not lied to Albus when he spoke of the general apathy Potter and his relatives held for each other. It seemed that Potter was provided for, if only barely, and then left alone. 

Neglected, Severus found himself thinking. He couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to Potters door, to the yellowing plastic cat-flap. Severus couldn’t believe Petunia had ever acquiesced to owning a pet. Lily had always wanted a cat. The memory drifted forward unbidden. But had had to get an owl instead because of Petunia’s allergies-

Not a cat flap then. Severus glanced at Albus who was busy inspecting the desk drawers and went to take a closer look, trying to ignore his suspicions. Maybe a dog. It would explain the dog bed in the cupboard but if was, but the supposed dog was now nowhere to be found. Who hadn’t been in Shaklebolts memory. It could have died, Severus justified, but even if Petunia had not bothered to get rid of the eyesore pass-through once the animal had gone it didn’t explain that whatever animal used that dog bed would be far too large to fit through the flap.

Albus caught him staring, but before he could ask Severus stalked out into the hall and back down to re-examine the cupboard and the bed within it.

A second look confirmed what Severus had seen before. A dog bed, fit for a large breed, weathered and looking well used. It stood on its side, slumped against shelves of bleach and other cleaners along one side of the cramped space. The lack of pet food made Severus suspicious enough to levitate it out of the cupboard and into the hall, secretly hoping he would find a bag, however small, tucked behind it. When the lumpy mattress lifted into the air it practically collapsed over itself and as it folded nearly in half an errant corner knocked a tin off of the shelf. It opened on impact with the floor and sent its contents skittering. 

“Severus?” Albus had followed him and looked over his shoulder. “What-“

Toys. A small tea tin filled with trinkets and small toys. A moulded plastic horse had fallen overtop of a connected lump of brightly coloured blocks. Two army soldiers, each missing a limb, had landed on the edge of the bloodstain on the floor and a handful of marbles had rolled straight through, leaving trails behind them as they finally settled near Severus’ feet. It was the mark on the bottom of the box, though, that kept Severus’ attention. 

H. Written in a childlike scribble, three uneven lines hidden on the bottom corner under the lip of the tin. It was the only evidence of Potter ever having been a child in this house. The idea that Potter had saved these broken bits of plastic, had thought enough of his collection of detritus to want to label them with a single small initial sent something within Severus spinning. It led to a sickening thought. If these indeed, had been Potter’s, why were they not kept in his room? 

“What is-“ Severus felt Albus’ hand on his shoulder and stepped to the side as Albus moved forward, intent on something he had seen. They were both too tall even to stoop and enter, but Albus dropped to one knee and craned forward. Severus heard a sound of tearing and when Albus emerged he was clutching a bit of paper. The corners had been torn off, from where it had been stuck to the inside of the cupboard. 

It was a child’s drawing, the piece of paper obviously a scrap. There was a small stick figure drawn in blue, a cloud, a tree and again, a small letter H. The figure had two dots for eyes, no mouth and a slash bisecting its face. 

Albus had knelt in the blood in order to reach the paper, and the hem of his robes was now stained. Rattled, Severus cast a quick cleaning charm and the blood vanished from the fabric but if Albus had noticed either the stain or the spell, it did not show. The implications were clear to Severus, and it seemed as though Albus was processing the same conclusion. 

It was a contradiction. No one would tape a drawing to a wall where it would not be seen but, no one would hide a drawing so well if they wanted it viewed. Someone had to have spent time, a fair amount of time, for that crawl space to be somewhere worth- as it were- decorating, and done in such a way that it wouldn’t be seen. 

The dog bed, the cat-flap, the cupboard- 

“Enough.” Albus said. He held the drawing as if it were glass and Severus wondered if he had ever seen the Headmaster look his age before. He looked it now, sorrow in every line of his face. “This is- I have seen enough.” It was almost a plea, one that   
Severus was surprised to find himself echoing but unwilling to express. Tight-lipped, Severus nodded. 

“There will be a meeting tonight.” Albus said tiredly, gently folding Potters drawing and putting it in his pocket. “7 o’clock, at Headquarters. I will be informing the rest of the Order. Harry is- lying at rest at the Burrow where he will remain until the burial.”

“Godric’s Hollow?” Severus asked, and was taken aback when Albus shook his head. 

“His body must be guarded.” The suggestion was sickening, but Severus found he couldn’t argue. The Dark Lord would not hesitate to desecrate Potter’s grave, would revel in the chance to defile even the memory of the boy. “He will lie at Hogwarts, until I am able to reunite him with Lily and James. For now, the rites will take place at the Burrow, after the meeting. Should you wish to attend, of course.” Albus sent him a level look and Severus twitched. 

Of course he did not wish to attend. Day after day surrounded by people who barely saw him as an ally, forced to listen to fond reminiscing on Potter by those who did not know or chose not to see what the boy really was-

And what was Potter? The thought pulled him up short, derailing an almost reflexive spiral of derision. What, after all this, could he certainly say of the boy? It left Severus cold. 

“If Potter is the only focus of this evenings meeting, I shall abstain.” Severus stated. “We have precious little time before the Dark Lord learns of the boys passing, and there are far better uses for my time than to sit in a room and listen to the gnashing of teeth.” He sneered. “If you will excuse me, Headmaster, I have work that will require my attention for the evening.”

“What work would that be, Severus?” Albus asked, sounding genuinely curious rather than angry as Severus left, turning his back on the man, the cupboard and the blood on the floor. 

Severus apparated back to Hogwarts without answering, and made it through the grounds and to his quarters in what seemed like record time. His heart was pounding by the time he made it through the door to his living room, the blood rushing in his ears loud enough to give him a hideous migraine, the only explanation for his dizziness, the anxiety creeping up his spine. 

Within minutes of arriving home, Severus got to work-

-and began to see just how many drinks it would take to forget everything he had learned today. How many it would take to get the smell of Potter’s blood from his nose, the memory of Albus’s tormented expression from his mind. 

He started with whiskey, a bottle Mcgonagall had given him for Yule, already half drunk from frequent end of week meetings between the two. He snatched it from his liquor cabinet, summoned a glass and sank heavily into his armchair by the fire. The dungeons were spelled to a comfortable temperature, regardless of the time of year, but a fire was one small luxury that Severus allowed himself. 

The first glass was a responsible pour. Two fingers worth that he sipped, trying desperately to quiet his thoughts. When he was calm enough, warmed from the drink, he shed his outer robe and sank back into the chair in his shirtsleeves, still far too sober.   
He could still see the drawing, the child figure with no mouth. 

That had never been a problem for Potter, he thought uncharitably, the boy could never seem to stop speaking, always getting himself in far more trouble than if he had just stayed silent. 

Perhaps the child was busy staying silent about other things.

The second glass he did not measure. Nor the third. 

Severus’ father had been a drunk. A mean one, with enough muscle to make the hits that landed count. It had worried Severus, when he was younger, that he would inherit the trait but he thankfully had been spared, more prone to melancholy than rage when he’d been drinking. Proclivity, however, was not absolute instinct and Severus surprised himself when his thoughts drifted to Lily and he threw his glass across the room. 

The crystal shattered and Severus buried his head in his hands. 

He had realized his mistake before he had even finished relaying what he had heard of the prophecy to the Dark Lord, all those years ago. Had known Lily’s death warrant had been signed, in his own hand even if not done by his wand. And for what? Jealousy. Revenge. An infantile and idiotic desire to to gain some sort of justice against James Potter who had been given everything Severus had been denied. Lily, the love of his life, and the yet unborn promise of a child of his own. 

Severus could look back on those years and see just how mad he had been, driven to the brink of sanity- and knew that it was no excuse. His choices had always been his own, and even when the Dark Lord had promised to spare Lily, Severus had known it was a lie. 

He’d gone to Albus then and offered everything he had left to try and right the wrong he’d done. Swore innumerable oaths, flinging himself upon the Headmasters mercy and allowed himself to become a piece on the board to be moved across the board without question. He relinquished his freedom, his privacy, his body, his future- 

And Lily had still died, leaving Severus nothing in the world but regret and a final oath to Albus. To safeguard Lily’s son, to protect him as Severus had been unable to protect Lily, to be a watchful eye in the dark against the forces both he and Albus knew would one day rise again. 

Was it to be the cycle of his life? Severus mused. Without a glass, he took a long drink straight from the bottle and kept hold of it in one loose fist. An endless parade of missteps, failure and regret? Haunted by his past. 

Severus snorted and took another drink only to find that the bottle was empty. It was no matter, though, as he simply let it fall to the carpet and summoned the entirety of the bar cart to the side of his chair and pulled another from the cabinet. It was only after his first swig that he realized it was gin. He hated gin. He drank anyway. 

The world around him faded incrementally as the night wore on but Severus was content to sit and watch the clock tick by.   
Potter’s rites would be underway. Severus wondered how Albus would repair the boys skull to make him suitable for viewing.   
Wondered if Lupin had killed Dursley yet, if the werewolf would like to hear a suggestion of curses. Wondered if Lily could ever forgive him.

There was a soft sound that brought Severus out of his thoughts, his vision swimming. He lifted his eyes from the fire, the wood had burned down nearly to ash now, and realized the proximity charm on his door had chimed. 

Drunkenly, for he was well and truly drunk, Severus waved his wand and allowed the door to open. If someone wanted to see him then, fine, they would see him as he was. He’d already failed in everything he’d ever tried, his embarrassment was total. Besides, he refused to ruin all his hard work at getting this pissed for anything less than the Dark Lord himself. 

When the figure stepped through the door, Severus stared then took another long drink to fortify himself. The urge to laugh would have been nearly overwhelming if he did not feel so sick at the sight. 

“I was expecting your mother.” Severus told the ghost of the boy who lived. 

Potter stood there, glowing in the low light of the room, staring silently at Severus who sunk further into his chair. Or, maybe not his ghost, Severus thought as he struggled to focus his vision. This Potter was not as Severus remembered him, the boys face was all James- but when he blinked Severus could see Lily in the nose- Severus tried to puzzle out how the scar had changed, too, but the buzzing in his mind let his worries drift away.

Potter was haunting him, it didnt matter what the boy looked like. 

“You’re drunk.” The boy said, startled, not moving from where he stood, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

Severus lifted an eyebrow and raised the bottle of gin in a sloppy salute. “You’re dead.” He took another drink. 

Potter made a noise that Severus couldn’t translate. “Celebrating, sir?” He questioned. 

Severus glared, but where he expected Potter’s usual defiant expression he was met with an open, honest question. It was a kick in the teeth, to think that he could be viewed as such an unfeeling beast. 

“You are a fool, Potter.” Severus growled. It was all he could do. All he knew how. “Evidently even death will not take that treasured gift from you. Celebrating.” Severus did laugh, then. A harsh noise that cut through the silence of his quarters. Potter did not move. Severus worked to keep his wandering gaze on Potter. “I’ll admit,” he continued. His thoughts, usually so well controlled, seemed to come out of his mouth unbidden. “I did not expect you to remain, Potter. Though I suppose the manner of your death would lead to more unfinished business than most.” He muttered darkly. “Are you to haunt me through the halls? I assure you it is unnecessary. Knowledge of my failings regarding you are punishment enough, boy.”

Potter looked confused. Perhaps the child had not thought the choice through- the choice not to move on to the next world. Was he trapped, now, a lost boy wandering the closest thing to home he’d known?

Potter’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“I’m not here for you.” Potter offered, as if it were an explanation. Severus would have bristled at the gall, to snoop through his private rooms without his knowing, but he hadn’t the energy. 

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “No? Then what?”

It seemed to take an age before Potter spoke, long enough for Severus’ gaze to start to slip and swim, and when he did he was quiet. Quieter than he ever had been in life.

“A funeral.”

Severus scowled. “It will be three days before you’ll be buried, Potter. You will linger for that long?” The boy could move on, then? Severus wondered what it was about the funeral Potter could be waiting for. Perhaps, the chance to say goodbye he had been denied. 

Potter didn’t answer. Didn’t move. 

“Your body is at the Burrow.” Severus offered. Hinted. Desperate to get the dead boy out of his quarters and to stop him from staring.

“I know.”

“The Order is there, paying respects.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Your little friends, as well.”

Potter just stared. 

The room spun, or perhaps Severus swayed in his seat, he was not sure but in the same moment he felt the bottle fall from his grasp, Potter was suddenly across the room at his side.

At this distance, Severus’ mind was more easily able to play tricks on him. Potters scar was exaggerated, in his mind, no longer the three stroke mark-

-H. Written in a childlike scribble, three uneven lines hidden on the bottom corner under the lip of the tin.-

-and now reached from hairline to brow bone. Severus drunkenly imagined Potter’s face, no longer as a mirror image of James, but with Lily’s sharper cheekbones, her mouth. The shape of her eyes remained, but in his self flagellation Severus had changed their colour to green the colour of the curse that had killed her. Her death, seen by her son, now reflected literally in his eyes. 

Severus tipped forward and imagined grabbing Potters wrist so strongly that he would have sworn he felt flesh, warm and solid, under his hand. The boy flinched back, but Severus held fast. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone, Potter?” He muttered, too tired now to demand answers as he would have liked. “Your uncle-“ he struggled. 

For a moment, Severus thought that Potter’s ghost was going to behave as Potter had in life. That the spirit of the boy would deny, deflect, perhaps play dumb to Severus’ clumsy accusation. But the vision of Potter before him seemed, like other ghosts, to have found some emotional distance in death. 

“Who was there to tell?” He said, as if commenting on the weather. It made Severus seethe, even as his vision started to creep close in darkness. 

“Anyone!” He hissed, fury rising in his throat. The fool boy could have told anyone. Anyone from the moment he stepped foot at Hogwarts- hell, could have taken a stranger aside on the street of Diagon Alley, batted his eyes twice and it would have been taken care of!

Whatever it was, exactly. The dog bed, the cat-flap, the cupboard... evidence, but not proof of the extent of harm Severus hypothesized. 

Suddenly, it was gone. All his energy, all his righteous anger fell away and left nothing to replace it, because it did not matter. It was useless to think of things in the present tense, because for whatever reason Potter had not told anyone, could not tell anyone, would now never tell anyone. 

“You have destroyed Albus.” He could only mutter, exhausted. Potter’s imagined arm disappeared from Severus’ grip. “The old fool loves you. Would’ve done anything t’keep you safe-“

He felt himself tilt again, this time backward to fall firmly into his chair. 

“I wish he’d told me.” Potter’s reply was almost inaudible. “It would have been nice to know.”

There were noises in the distance, then closer as Severus drifted. Potter said something but it was lost to the wind as Severus slipped away to where the ghosts could not haunt him anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

“Good morning, Albus.”

Morning was a charitable description for the hour, the pale light of dawn just barely lightening the sky through the windows of the Burrow. The living room, where Albus sat stationed for his Vigil, was still lit in the flickering light of candles. White wax, as was tradition, stationed in the corners of the room and around the body to keep evil spirits out. He’d sat in their glow for hours now, perched uncomfortably on a wooden chair as the fire in the grate had burned down and down until it was nothing but low glowing embers. 

Albus found himself stirred by the quiet voice and looked up to see a figure in the doorway.

“And to you, Arthur.” He returned, and finally shifted in his seat. A mistake he realized too late when a clawing ache appeared along his spine. If Arthur noticed his wince the man made no comment, only stepped through from the darkened hallway to stand next to where Harry lay.

The body had been cleaned and dressed in accordance with the Rites, his wound repaired well enough to allow the body to be viewed without distress. Albus had been the one to shroud the boys eyes, as was tradition, with a clean white cloth so that they would not accidentally be looked into. The eyes were windows into the soul, and while muggles enjoyed the sentiment it was taken quite literally in the magical community. Molly had dressed him smartly, a pressed white shirt and dark trousers and shined shoes, but Albus couldn’t help but think how pale he looked. How still. 

Arthur took a moment and pressed a gentle hand to Harry’s shoulder. In the dim light, the hollows beneath his eyes seemed to sink deeper. Albus doubted he had slept, or if he had, it had not been well. 

“I’m going to Diagon.” Arthur said, though he didn’t turn his pained gaze from Harry. “The twins have been out looking, but I- If you hear anything-“

“I have Kingsley and Amelia on alert in the Ministry.”Albus said. “And Mundungus has, I’m sure, been in Knockturn for most of the night. Wherever Ron has gone, I am sure that we will find him. There’s been no answer from Ms Granger?”

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing from anyone.”

Young Ron’s disappearance had been... troubling, and there was still no news as to where the boy might have gone nor just what he had been thinking. Bill had gone straight out the night before to search the village but had returned empty handed.   
Molly and Arthur had sent the family owls out, sending the smaller, faster owl with a letter to Ron himself and their older owl with a letter to Ms Granger. Hermione had always been a logical child, a steady voice that seemed to temper Ron and Harry’s more irrational impulses. Albus was sure that out of anyone, she would have answers.

“She may be... in shock.” Albus offered. To be told of the death of one friend and the disappearance of another- all in one letter?   
“If we’ve heard nothing by noon, I’ll send someone for her. She should be given the opportunity to say goodbye.” 

Arthur made a low noise of agreement, even as he frowned. “I just don’t understand it.” He said. “Ron knows how dangerous it is now, outside the wards, and to curse Ginny? He’s always been a bit- well, he’s always followed along with Harry’s-“ his voice broke and suddenly he pulled his hand away from Harry’s shoulder, pulling it into a fist. 

There was a sound from the stairs, and over Arthurs shoulder Albus saw Molly come into the room. Behind her the Weasley family clock bobbed along in mid air, charmed to follow.

Molly’s face matched her husbands, lined in exhaustion and pinched with worry that lessened just slightly when he moved to hold her.

“Still no news?” She questioned fretfully. 

Albus shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I was up half the night watching the clock.” She admitted, running a hand over her hair. “Though his hand hasn’t moved so much as an inch from “Out”- as if that’s any help at all!”

“I’m heading to meet the twins.” Arthur pressed a kiss to Molly’s head. Whatever frustrations he’d been in the middle of expressing when Molly arrived seemed to vanish, and outwardly Arthur seemed nothing but calm and composed. “Cuppa tea before I go?”

“Please.” Molly gave a wobbly smile as he moved past her into the hallway, and joined Albus in the living room. 

There was no hesitation in her hands as, through decades of muscle memory, she went through the motions of tidying invisible dust from Harry’s shirt, gently tugging the collar of his shirt even though it- he- had not moved from the last time she had touched him. 

“I really do wish I’d gotten that clock charmed more specifically.” Molly said. “Out could mean anything. Out at the pub. Out at the shops. Out- out in a ditch somewhere!” She sniffed. 

“I-“ Albus wanted to say that they would find him, not to worry. That he would take care of it and find her son whole, hale and healthy and return Ron to her arms within the hour. But he couldn’t bring himself to dredge up any platitudes. 

“You know, I ran into Amos Diggory last year. I was dropping something off for Arthur at work.” She continued, seeming not to have heard him falter. Her hand reached up and she carefully placed her hand on Harry’s left cheek. “He- He’s gone completely grey and he doesn’t- well, he was always such a chatterbox. Before.” Albus watched as she lightly ran her thumb across Harry’s cheek, just under the fabric of the blindfold. “He asked me, if I ever regretted Harry and Ron being so close, if I thought that their being friends was dangerous for our family and I didn’t know what to say, then, because... because maybe it was more dangerous. Especially for Ron. But now all I can think about is that I don’t think I would be half as scared about where Ron was if I knew Harry was there with him.”

“They shared a remarkable friendship.” Albus said, sure of that, at least. Arthur reappeared with a tea tray and though Albus wanted one desperately, his Vigil was still ongoing. Arthur made quick work of his tea before stoking the fire and flooing to the twins joke shop, Molly excused herself to start on breakfast and left Albus to his Vigil.

As the morning crawled on, the household woke and members of the Order began to arrive. Some came by floo, others apparated, let onto the lawn through the wards. All arrived with small parcels, traditional offerings for the burial that were set near to Harry’s body. 

Small parcels of sweets, a clasp for a cloak, a dagger, a set of knit gloves. 

Some, once they had paid their respects, came to speak with him in the corner he’d chosen to sit his Vigil. They’d all returned from the night before, and though the grief was older, it did not feel any less fresh.

(“Harry was a good kid. Always up for a laugh.” Nymphadora said, raking her hands through her limp blonde hair. “I can’t believe it, though. His uncle? That fat muggle?”)

(“Oh, Albus.” Minerva blew into her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I saw him, not two weeks ago. I watched him get on the train- how could this have happened?“)

(Alastor heaved a sigh and clapped a hand on Albus’ shoulder. “Buryin’ the young,” He said, both eyes focused on the figure laid before them. “Always make y’feel your age, doesn’t it.”)

Others moved to their own small pockets of conversation, satellites of grief around the room. Bill and Fleur sat close near the fire, happy when Nymphadora joined them. Arabella Figg arrived and made teary conversation with Minerva. Mundungus, Daedalus Diggle, Elphias Dodge and Hestia Jones all came and went, leaving their gifts before returning to work, or in Mundungus’ case- avoiding work. 

In the late morning Fred and George Weasley appeared, with no new news from their search for Ronald. Kingsley, Amelia and Mundungus had nothing to show yet, either, but Albus tried to hold out hope that they would stumble on a clue soon. Arthur, the twins explained, would be home from Diagon by dinner. 

Through it all Albus stayed perched on his increasingly uncomfortable wooden chair. He was hungry, he was exhausted, and as he watched young Miss Weasley reach out to take Harry’s still hand in hers, he felt absolutely ancient. 

She’d been what, 13 when Cedric Diggory had been murdered? Perhaps Molly’s comment had planted a seed in his mind. A year younger than Harry, who had seen the violence for himself firsthand. Twenty years ago, he’d thought that the war was being fought by those far too young. Now, it was children, not young men and women but children who were paying the price. He’d tried, after the third task, to find the words to explain grief to those who should know nothing of it, and he wondered- watching Ginevra’s shaking shoulders- if he had done them a disservice, speaking to them like they would never grow. 

Albus had thought, then, that he could speak of death and grief and only mention the healing, not the hurt. He’d guided his school to look for the light in the dark and to remember bravery and kindness and hard work, hoping to shield them from- from this. This ache, this weight, this... empty chasm that Albus wasn’t sure he was even entitled to feel. 

When Harry had brought Cedric’s body back, Amos Diggory’s screams had sent an unknown terror up Albus’s spine, but now-  
Now, Albus thought that he just might understand. 

“Headmaster.”

Albus pulled himself out of his thoughts and found Severus standing in front of him, face a careful mask and posture stiff. He hadn’t noticed the man arrive, and if he was honest, had not truly expected the man to come to anything but the burial itself. A bolt of worry shot through him. 

“Severus,” he said. “Any word?” If Severus was here, it most likely meant he had news to deliver. Could Voldemort already know? 

Severus, though, shook his head. “No summons.” He said, voice low. “Not yet. If the Dark Lord has sensed anything, he’s playing it close to the chest.”

Albus fought a frown. “It does not seem like Tom, to ignore this. He’s never passed up an opportunity to gloat before.”

“I agree.” Said Severus. “Though I think it is Bellatrix’s silence that speaks loudest. As soon as Potter’s loss is known,” his face twisted bitterly “She will crow it from every rooftop. Whatever restraint she has managed to show will be cast aside, and she’ll start... hunting, again.”

Albus sighed. Severus was right on all counts, and Albus knew they were in dire straits. The Order had barely been large enough during the first war to do any effective damage on Voldemort’s forces, and now? Albus was working with barely half of what they’d had before, and nearly half of that were nearly fresh out of Hogwarts. 

Children, his mind echoed, children. 

Albus quickly relayed the news about Ronald’s disappearance, and wondered why with each word, Severus’s demeanour seemed to shift.

“I have something else I need to speak with you about, though.” Severus said, and cast a few looks around the room before taking a small step forward, closed the distance enough so that Albus could hear his murmured voice. “Potter is haunting Hogwarts. I saw his ghost last night.”

It felt as if Albus had walked through a ghost himself at the words, a cold chill gripped him suddenly and refused to let go. Just to the left of Severus, Albus could see Harry’s prone figure and the chasm grew. How could the boy be here- be gone- be a spirit roaming the halls of Hogwarts- 

“Ah.” He only managed to breathe. “I see.”

“He made mention of a funeral.” Severus continued, still barely above a whisper. “You may wish to- forewarn others, before the burial.”

Harry was- no, Albus mentally shook himself at the start of that thought. Harry wasn’t doing anything. Harry’s ghost was Hogwarts, but a spirit was not a soul. The boy had died. Harry had died. The spirit that lingered deserved rest, not to be barraged by an old man’s endless guilt and search for forgiveness. 

He would keep his Vigil, Albus swore to himself. He would pay his penance, honour the boy’s life rather than chase after a fragment of his death. And if there was a moment before the burial where Harry’s spirit would speak with him, Albus would not waste the opportunity. 

“Thank you, Severus.” Albus said as Severus backed away again, and watched with interest as the younger man turned and looked down at Harry’s body. 

Severus’ expression did not shift in any way, his posture never changed, but Albus could see the moment when Severus truly understood what he was looking at. 

Severus was no stranger to death, Albus knew. When he’d been a much younger man, Severus had tried to prove his allegiance by pleading his guilt at Albus’s feet. Albus was all too aware of what the Dark Lord required of his servants, but to see Harry Potter laid for viewing- the still, quiet body of the boy Severus had known for over half a decade- would be something entirely new. 

Albus could not look away as Severus moved silently forward toward Harry and, in one graceful movement, pulled a book from within his robes and laid it amongst the pile of other offerings. Albus stood then, his spine creaking and popping with the movement, and he could see that it was an old dog eared copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. 

“Returning a confiscated item.” Severus said gruffly at Albus’ arched brow. 

Severus had not been a happy child, nor had he ever been a particularly pleasant man but there were moments, brief windows of time, where Albus could see the man that Severus might have been. 

He was just about to ask just when Severus had taken the book from Harry when young Ginny Weasley stood from the couch and crossed quietly over to them. The twins, who had been sitting with her, followed quickly after.

“Miss Weasley,” Albus said kindly. She’d been crying, he could see, but there was a determined set to her chin that he recognized from her mother. “Misters Weasley.”

Severus looked like a cat in a cage, but before he could make an exit Ginny turned to him. 

“I wanted to thank you, Professor Snape.” She said. 

“We wanted to thank you.” One of the twins cut in. Albus had never been particularly good with telling them apart, but an educated guess said it was Fred. 

“Both of you.” Said George. The young men were also obviously distressed, though Albus knew they had also been fruitlessly searching for their brother all night, so their drawn looks could have been exhaustion. 

Severus, back to form, raised an eyebrow. “You will have to be more specific, Weasley.”

“You got rid of his scar.” Ginny said. Albus was taken aback but she continued. “It means a lot. I dont think he’d want to be-“ her voice cracked. “-to be buried with it.”

“I am afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” said Severus, and though his tone was still derisive Albus could see that he was just as curious as to what they meant. Harry’s scar was still there. He did not wish to recount the... delicate spell work that had been needed to repair the damage caused by Harry’s wound, but he’d been careful to try and restore Harry’s body as close to how it had been in life.

“He’d tried to get rid of it before,” said George, and though Albus was sure the young man thought he was explaining, his words just left him even more confused. “Hermione even asked us for help, but since it was a curse scar we didn’t have any answers.”  
Fred looked between him and Severus curiously. “We figured it was a potion.” He said, “Or that you knew of a spell, Headmaster.”

Ah.

“Harry’s scar has not been removed.” Albus said, gently. A look to his left even confirmed it, the scar was partly visible underneath Harry’s fringe. “As you said, it is impossible to remove a curse scar. I hadn’t realized that Harry had attempted to do so.”

“Not his head, sir.” Ginny shook her head. “His hand.” 

His hand? Now Albus felt truly adrift. When had Harry taken a curse to the hand? He tried to think, to cast his mind back to- to when? 

“You know,” she continued, even as Albus found himself desperately wishing she would stop for- to give him a moment- “From Umbridge.”

The world narrowed in that one word, focused to a needles point who’s sharp edge pressed against Albus’ throat.

“Umbridge cursed Harry?” He hadn’t been told-

“Well,” Fred shrugged “We figured the quill was.”

The quill?

“Explain.” Severus demanded. 

Ginny suddenly looked confused, unsure. “The quill she used in detentions, sir. She had us write lines, but the quill it- well-“ and before Albus could comprehend she was holding out her right hand, palm down. “Its tough to see, on me. She only got me twice, and I had to write something different each time, but you can see the ‘I’ if you look close.”

Albus grasped her hand in his own, and searched for- yes, there- a letter. A letter carved into the thin skin- a thin, raised silver scar-

“You-“ Albus found his voice had left him. “You were made to use a Blood Quill? When did- How... Whom did you report this to?” 

Ginny shrugged, but allowed him to keep hold of her hand. He could not tear his eyes away from the mark. He couldn’t imagine a member of his staff who would let such a thing go unchecked, but he had heard nothing- nothing of this. 

“No one, sir.” Ginny said, and now she truly seemed to hesitate. “I mean- You didn’t know?”

“Blood Quills are illegal.” Severus ground out. “They are highly restricted by the Ministry because they are- by definition- blood magic! How could you ever believe that they would be allowed at Hogwarts? To be used on children?”

“Umbridge was the Ministry!” Ginny returned quickly, and Albus let her hand drop from his grasp. “Its not like we didn’t know it was wrong! But we all saw what she was doing to Harry, and when no one stopped her using that quill on the Boy Who Lived, what were we supposed to think?”

Fred grimaced. “Everyone thought the Professors knew, but couldn’t do anything about it.”

“And when you left, Headmaster-“ George said with his own pained expression. “Well, that was it.”

Albus stood, defenceless. That year had been- well, what had seemed difficult now seemed a horror. One partially of his own making. They’d all thought- believed that he would condone the use of... torture, as discipline. That he’d knowingly opened the doors of Hogwarts to a woman who would carve her lessons into them a letter at a time. 

“I was unaware.” Albus said carefully as soon as he managed to reign in his emotions. “And, I will vouch, that none of your Professors knew about Umbridge’s methods. If they had known, it would have been reported to me. Immediately. And if I had known, the actions I would have taken to stop these detentions would have been quick and decisive.” He took a steadying breath. “But it is no excuse. I- we all should have seen.”

It seemed that particular lesson was to be repeated. They should have seen. 

He should have seen. 

Albus sighed. Harry, it seemed, had been far too forgiving. 

“If you weren’t the ones to get rid of it, sir, I guess it must have been Hermione.” George said thoughtfully. Albus could practically feel Severus roll his eyes. 

Fred nodded. “Clever, that one.” 

It wasn’t impossible, Albus mused. While it was true that the scar the Killing Curse left on Harry could not be removed, whatever scar the Blood Quill had made was not from a curse itself, but a cursed object. Removal would have been challenging, but not unachievable for a keen mind like Ms Granger. 

“If I may,” Albus asked. He looked to Ginny. “Do you know what Harry was made to write?”

The girl nodded, and Albus saw a flash of something in her eyes. “I must not tell lies.”

For a moment her reply confused him, but the moment passed and left cold clarity in its wake. 

“I see.” Albus said quietly. “Thank you, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny and the twins, in an act of mercy that Albus was sure they did not know they were enacting, took their leave. Severus remained. Across the room, Albus watched as Molly offered a tray of biscuits to Minerva and Arabella. 

“It was not reported to me.” He said, before Albus could gather himself enough to ask. A bitter look crossed his features. “Though my students weren’t usually the targets of her ire.”

Albus remembered all too well. The “Inquisitorial Squad”. It had set his teeth on edge, but at the time he had felt that the choice was already made. He had known Umbridge was deplorable but he had never conceived that she could ever- 

“A Blood Quill.” Albus moved back to Harry’s side with Severus in tow and searched both hands for- anything. 

“I cant remember the last time I’d even heard of one.” Severus muttered. “Weren’t they made for-“

“Blood oaths.” Albus nodded grimly. 

Both of their eyes ran over Harry’s hands, his arms, but- nothing. Whatever Miss Granger had done to remove the scars had been thorough, and Albus would make sure to add it to his list of questions for her as soon as they made contact. 

“We’ll have to check the students.” Severus said as Albus returned to his chair. “If the lines she set have become... compulsions-“

“Yes.” Albus said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Its not likely, but- yes we must. I need to meet with the staff.” Though he trusted the young Weasleys’ account, he still could not truly believe that his students had not reported anything to the staff. That they had lost their trust so completely. 

The sound of the Floo drew their attention and Arthur stepped out, empty handed and visibly frustrated. 

Molly rushed up to her husband, who just shook his head as he walked past her and out of the room with her following close behind. 

No luck in finding Ronald, then. 

The knot of worry in Albus’s chest grew. In many ways no news was good news. It meant there was less of a chance that Ron had been captured, but the lack of information set Albus on edge in a way that he had not expected. If there was no news, that meant that somehow, beyond all odds, Ron had managed to slip past every line of defence the Order had put in place and every surveillance system they’d tried to develop. It meant gaps. It meant danger. 

And the Order knew it.

Albus could tell, they were sitting on a precipice. This would be the test, to see who amongst them was truly invested in battling against Voldemort’s growing forces and who, at these new signs of danger, would choose to run or- worse yet- turn. Albus wanted to believe that he’d placed his faith carefully, but what was his faith worth now, after so many mistakes? Twenty years ago, he’d had faith that four young men were bonded by chosen brotherhood. Sixteen years ago he’d had faith in the bonds of blood. Yesterday, he’d had faith that he had done everything- everything, to ensure that Harry Potter was safe inside Number 4 Privet Drive. 

Now, Albus knew how wrong he’d been. 

Whatever else Albus had thought was blown from his mind, though, with the sound of a portkey and a high, terrified scream from outside. The room exploded into activity.

Albus found himself at the window almost immediately, Severus just over his shoulder. There, just outside the apparation wards, Remus Lupin stood towering over the prone and panicking form of Petunia Dursley. 

He spared the sight only a moments attention before he rushed away. 

By the time Albus made it to the back door, Remus had Petunia on her feet, a firm hold on her upper arm as she tried desperately to dislodge him. Her smart skirt and blouse were rumpled and stained and Albus wouldn’t have doubted that Remus had physically dragged her there. He was followed first by Severus, but the rest of the house weren’t far behind with wands all at the ready. Albus worried, from the dark look in Remus’ eyes, that they would be needed.

“Let me go!” Petunia screamed and clawed at his hold. “Put me back! Put me back! What did you do- you beast!” It looked like Petunia was made of nothing more than air, Remus didn’t so much as sway or flinch against her strikes. 

“Remus.” Albus said as he closed the distance across the lawn. Severus remained half a pace behind. Petunia screamed again, a high, terrified noise, but Albus could not find it within himself to be moved. “Severus, would you-“

Petunia was silenced and frozen, mid screech, before Albus could even finish the thought. 

“As promised.” Remus snarled, wrenching his hand away. He wiped it on his robes. “Alive.”

“Vernon?” 

Remus paused, for a fraction of a moment. “Also alive.” He replied. “For now. I left the boy where he was.”

Albus found himself taken aback. Alive. He couldn’t quite decide what the feeling was, to know it. Pride, certainly, in Remus and the control he’d always been able to exercise over the symptoms of his disease- but also, disappointment. 

“Greyback has territory in France. A forest south of Bordeaux.” Remus stalked forward and offered a broken pair of glasses to Severus. The action must have stunned him enough that he accepted them without comment. “If you’re quick with the questioning, you can use that to send her straight to her bastard husband. Who knows?” He sneered. “It might improve his odds.”

“Pragmatic.” Severus said, though Albus would be hard-pressed to say whether or not the tone was mockery or praise. “Letting Greyback do your dirty work for you.”

Remus’s eyes flashed. “I would have torn his throat with my teeth, even on a new moon. But I know Harry-“ the boys name was all it took to have him deflate. “Harry would not have me become a killer. Not for this. Not for them.”

Albus watched him as he spared a glance to Petunia, still frozen in terror, mascara run halfway down her face and eyes flying wildly about before he turned back to face Albus. For a moment it looked as if he would say something, but the moment fled quick as it came and Remus left without a word. He strode past him, past Severus and as he approached the Burrow the crowd parted and let him through in silence. 

It was quick work to arrange what happened next. 

Though Albus knew he’d technically broken his Vigil when he’d left Harry’s side, there was no contest between his personal wishes and the role he knew he must play. So, he asked Molly to sit for a moment as his proxy, and for Severus to remain with him as he questioned Petunia, to cast any spells that might be needed. Alastor and Minerva were asked to remain, while the rest of the Order retuned to the house. Surely to watch through the windows, but the lack of a crowd would, Albus hoped, make Petunia more amenable to answering his questions without resorting to... drastic measures. 

The degree to which he had been mistaken was of a magnitude hard to understand. 

At the first moment free from immobilization, Petunia had tried to run. She’d clawed, kicked and even spat as Severus, Alastor and Minerva had all coordinated their spells to restrain her in such a way that she would not be a danger, and even then Severus had had to produce a Calming Draught, the phial forced between her teeth, before they could even think of beginning. A quick discussion had led to the decision to follow it with a dose of Veritaserum, should she remain uncooperative.

It struck him suddenly, as he watched Minerva conjure a stool on the lawn and Alastor force Petunia to sit, that he’d never expected anyone other than Bellatrix Black to wear such an expression of hatred. They’d secured a small area of the yard within view of the back door, the high sun of a lovely June day beating down on them.

“There, you hellcat. That’ll keep you.” Alastor waved his wand and Petunia sat ramrod straight on the stool, her legs pressed tightly from ankle to knee and arms held elbow touching hip. 

“Lily’s sister.” Minerva said, her voice low. They arranged themselves a few paces away from Petunia, the four of them staring down at her while she glared daggers back at them. “This is Lily’s sister?”

Severus stalked toward her. “I hadn’t quite remembered your flair for theatrics, Tuney.” He sneered, and that mean spirited expression only grew when he moved his wand to remove the silencing charm and Petunia flinched. “Such a pleasure to see you again.”

Albus had had enough. 

“Petunia.” At the sound of her name, she turned and her eyes widened. Ah, so she recognized him. Good. Beyond the slightly glazed expression, he could see a small flicker of fear. “Do you know, Petunia, what your husband has done?”

There were answers that he expected, of course. He’d had nothing but time to think on how Petunia would answer for the violence. He’d imagined that if she did admit to knowing what had happened, as her son had implied, that she would perhaps claim that she had no recourse to stop him. That she had been fearful of her own life, or the life of her son. Perhaps she would intimate that Vernon had gone mad. That it had been a threat taken too far. 

Petunia said nothing, though. Just set her jaw and glared mulishly. 

It stoked a spark that Albus had felt, a small white-hot point of anger sitting just beneath his breastbone. 

“Answer the question!” Alastor barked when the silence stretched a moment too long. 

“Mrs Dursley,” Minerva said, “If you do not answer our questions under your own power, we have other- less appealing ways of getting the information.” Minerva openly gestured to Severus, who continued to stare Petunia down. “I would suggest you co-operate.”

“Cooperate!” The damn broke and Petunia screeched. “You’ve kidnapped me! Sent that- that beast of a man after us- you’ve killed my husband!” She wailed. “Dropped him in the middle of a forest with nothing- my poor Vernon!”

“Your husband murdered your nephew.” Albus worked to keep his anger in check. “Killed the child entrusted to your care. How do you account-“ 

“I never wanted him!” Petunia yowled. Her words echoed into the summer air and Albus felt a chill. “We never wanted him! You left him like a milk bottle on the doorstep and we had no choice, no choice but to bring that little monster into our home-“

“He was a baby!” Minerva gasped.

“I had a baby!” Petunia hissed. “My own beautiful boy! And you dumped that little freak-“ the tears from before had vanished and were replaced by a sneer. “Always sick, always crying- You don’t know what we had to deal with! Having that thing in our home, so close to Dudley, always doing horrible freaky things- Vernon thought a firm hand would sort him out but I knew- I always knew he’d turn out a freak.”

A firm hand, Albus wondered. How firm? Which side of the hand? How often?

“It was that horrible school that did it, though.” It seemed that, once begun, Petunia had no interest in stopping her tirade. “I suppose you all thought we wouldn’t notice. That because we’re normal we wouldn’t be able to see- Well I saw! You did something to the boy.” She seethed. “Changed him into some dangerous, unnatural creature and thought you could just keep passing him off for us to keep in line.”

“He was a child!” Minerva exclaimed. Alastor’s hand on her arm halted her steps forward, but she still loomed over Petunia from a distance, disgust across her face. “He was a boy!”

“He was a beast!” Petunia shrieked in return. Even with all of the spells binding her in place, she seemed to rock dangerously where she sat. “He wasn’t human! He wasn’t right! Your kind might have magic-” the word flew from her mouth like a curse. “But the boy was unnatural. He never grew. Didn’t breathe! Whatever it was couldn’t even get Lily’s eyes right- Vernon would take a belt to him and they’d turn-“

“Enough!” Severus slashed his wand through the air and mercifully, Petunia was silenced once again. Minerva made a pained noise and turned away, a hand over her mouth. Alastor swore. 

Albus forced himself to take a deep breath. Then another. Another, and relied on decades of hard-won control to keep him from giving into baser instincts. 

A belt. A tremor worked through him, and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking as a hollow ache took residence where he was sure his heart had been. The word joined the collection he’d started the day before, and the arithmetic of the addition was clear and damning but it wasn’t enough. He had to see, suddenly, overwhelmingly tired of it all. He would have answers, not this macabre hunt for hints and glimpses of-

Yes, Albus thought. Enough. Vigil be damned. 

It was nothing to catch Petunia’s eye and press his mind forward into hers. Her memories were laid before him and it was easy, so very easy to muscle his way through until he found what he was looking for. 

-watched from the doorway of Harry’s bedroom. The boy stood, hands pressed at shoulder height against the wall he faced. His shirt at his feet. Vernon dwarfed the boy in height and breadth, and used his extra weight behind each strike he made against Harrys back.

“You’ll do as your aunt says.” Vernon grunted between one lash and the next. He rearranged his grip on the belt. “We’ll have none of your nonsense- After last year, if you so much as look at Dudley, boy, you’ll be sorry. Understood?”

Another whip-snap, another dull thud, this one wet. Vernon had struck with the buckle and the skin on Harry’s left shoulder tore.   
Harry hung his head, the muscles in his arms twitching, his back still. No rise and fall. 

“Answer your Uncle!” Petunia snapped.

Harry’s head lifted at the noise, looked at his aunt over his bloody shoulder and in the harsh light of the overhead lamp it was clear to see. 

Brown. Brown eyes. 

The boy blinked, and they were green again. Petunia flinched. Paled. Turned away as Vernon raised his arm-

Albus pushed away with all his might, with so much strength that it send him physically reeling away from Petunia. He found his hand covering his eyes, as if it would do any good, as if he could shield himself- Albus could feel his fingers tremble over his eyelids. 

“Albus-“ Minerva started, but Albus immediately raised his other hand to ward her off. 

What had he seen?

He’d thought Petunia mad. Of course he had, how could he have put any stock to the nonsense she’d spouted? She’d used whatever she could think of to justify her treatment of Harry. But Harry’s eyes had changed colour. Albus had watched, through   
the memory of one who had no power to falsify it, as Harry had- the boy hadn’t made a noise. Hadn’t taken a breath.

What had he seen?

“Albus,” Minerva insisted. She had moved forward and stood within arms reach now. “What is it?”

It was laid bare, now. There were no reassuring half-truths that he could comfort himself with, no justifications that of course the boy would tell him, no convenient circumstances to hide behind. Albus could do nothing now but see the details and careen into his own silent screaming panic. He’d wanted to keep Harry safe. Wished for him to be loved and happy, but thought that if the Dursleys could not give him that, they would at least keep the boy safe from harm. And yet- it was done. It had happened. Every fear he’d ever had for Harry Potter had come to be, and there was nothing he could to to stop it now. 

“A moment.” he choked out, vision blotchy with rage. “Give me-“

He was not sure if anyone said anything else, because there is a crackling of energy under his skin and in his ears and the sight of Petunia Dursley sent him stalking in the opposite direction with no real trajectory other than away. 

Kingsley had seen Vernon kill Harry. Albus had watched the memory himself, then shown it to Severus. Severus had seen Harry’s ghost. They’d all seen- seen what? His thoughts were a jumble. What could he be sure of? 

Brown eyes. 

“Albus!”

Harry had been under 24 hour guard from the moment he’d retuned to his relatives that summer. The boy hadn’t left the property- had barely left the house itself- for two weeks. No one, bar his relatives and members of the Order, could have made it past the wards. There was no opportunity to... to what? Even the hypothetical was ridiculous. There were no spells on the body, no glamours Albus could see and the body had been observed for far too long for it to have been Polyjuice.

But- the curse scar was gone. Not gone- Albus thought wildly-perhaps it had never been there-

“Albus!”

The cry of his name dislodged the thought and Albus swore under his breath as he turned, only to find that it had been Arthur calling his name as he rushed to his side across the lawn, a sheet of parchment clutched in his hand. Arthur didn’t spare Petunia’s frozen form even a second glance as he passed. 

“It’s a reply,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “From Hermione. I apologize for interrupting but- I really think you should take a look.” 

There was a moment where Albus entertained the temptation of prioritization. Harry’s murder was, he now believed, not so cut and dry and the ruthless part of his mind whispered to send Arthur back to the house. He had no time to read a letter that would only confirm that Ms Granger had no clue as to where Ronald was. He could send Arthur away, back to Diagon with his other sons, and surely they would have just as much of a chance of finding the boy wandering the alley, careless of the trouble he’d caused, rather than impede on his attempt to make himself feel-

It was like being doused by ice water. 

Harry was dead. Ronald Weasley was, possibly, alive. 

No amount of mental gymnastics would lead to the decision to ignore those facts. Albus’ dogged desire to uncover and understand every faced of how he’d failed Harry was nothing more than self flagellation. It would do nothing, solve nothing, and Albus could not- would not look into Arthur Weasley’s eyes and be anything less than completely invested in his son’s safe return. 

“Let me see.” 

Arthur offered up the parchment, his face a complicated mask.

Ms Grangers handwriting was impressive, and as Albus read on he began to believe so too was her subtext. 

Dear Ginny,

Thank you so much for your last letter, and the present that went along with it. It’s exactly what’s been missing! I’m away from home but I promise the red one will be in perfect shape when you see it next. 

I know you wanted to go to Diagon Alley to go shopping tomorrow morning, but I don’t think that’s a good plan. I’ve heard that its going to storm, and they’re advising that everyone avoid the area, if possible. Did you know that in certain kinds of storms, the sky doesn’t just go dark but can look green? I’ve seen pictures. It looks like the sky did at the World Cup. I’ll just organize your Order at Flourish and Blotts myself. I’ll be there tomorrow regardless. 

I hope you dont think I’m being too bossy, Ginny, and I know that you can take care of yourself but I just wanted to give you some advice. Sometimes it can be hard to tell when a friendship is real, or when it just looks like the real thing. I know its hard to hear but in this case, it wouldn’t take a palm reader to figure out that they’re not a genuine person. All you need to do is look him in the eye to see it for yourself.

See you soon,  
Hermione

“What do you make of it?” Arthur asked.

It was a question Albus was asked often, placed as he was in the world. Seated in politics, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the head of the Order- even just as a powerful wizard, Albus was asked for his thoughts on everything. And, more than that, his position often meant acting on those thoughts. He was the end point, the deciding factor, the final judgement by virtue of age and experience and the choice that many made to place their trust in him. 

Albus often felt like a stone thrown into water. Every action he took sent waves and ripples far beyond his reach, beyond his intention. 

Reading Ms Grangers reply, he felt that phantom movement begin as he weighed her words and their meaning in his mind. The message was clear for the most part- an attack planned for the next day at Diagon Alley, a warning for the Order- but he couldn’t help but hesitate at the path ahead. 

How could he trust, now, the small voice he’d always had such certainty in when he had been so wrong for so long? So mislead, placing his faith and Harry’s life in the shell of a fantasy that had never truly been? He was frozen, the waters of fate and future up to his neck, unsure how to proceed when he felt he could not even trust his next breath. 

“I presume it’s all nonsense?” He asked. 

Arthur nodded, looking torn between hope and confusion. “Ginny swears she hasn’t sent Hermione anything this summer and that they never made plans to meet. I think I understood what Hermione was trying to say, but I just-” he swallowed. “I want to know I’m not reading too much into it.”

Albus read the message again. The red present was most likely Ronald, and he was reassured to see that apparently the boy was in good shape, and with Ms Granger. The veiled warning of the storm- yes, yes an attack...and a rally point at Flourish and Blotts, where Ms Granger would meet them. Maybe with Ronald in tow. They could be spirited away before the action- it was all very clear, save for the last paragraph. It was another warning, of that Albus was sure, but of what? Real friends, she’d said.   
Genuine people. 

Real people. Look him in the eye. 

Albus’s heart gave a jolt, rebelled against the cage of his ribs. A single, piercing moment of hope that he immediately tried to reign in. 

He might not trust himself, but he’d never had a reason not to trust Hermione Granger. 

With what seemed to be the final portion of his will, Albus composed himself and turned on his heel. Arthur followed. Minerva, Alastor and Severus were all staring at them with concern and confusion, but Albus could not- did not have time- to reassure them. If he was right- 

“I think you’re right, Arthur. Miss Granger seems to claiming that she and Ronald are together, and for the moment I believe we can take her word that they are safe.” He said, making his way back to the others with quick strides. “As to the rest of it, I will call for a meeting as soon as possible.”

Arthur nodded and heaved a stuttering breath. “Thank you, Albus. I thought I was going mad.”

Look him in the eye. 

The thought was a spark under his skin, a forward momentum that had him turn from Arthur without further reassurance. 

“Severus,” he said sharply. Every eye in the small group was already trained on him, watching expectantly. “I believe we’ve kept Petunia from her husband long enough.”

A wicked sort of look crossed Severus’ face and he nodded, activating the Portkey Lupin had given him.

“That bad, eh?” Alastor scowled. Albus gave a tight nod, but said nothing in return. “Well, the wolves can have ‘em then.”

Minerva’s face was ashen. “I’d always known they were the worst sort of muggles. I’d never dreamed they were the worst sort of people.” 

Arthur paled. 

Severus took a step toward Petunia and just before he placed the portkey on her still immobilized lap, bent at the waist and whispered something in her ear. Then, she was gone, the last image of her left in Albus’ mind was of her pale cornflower blue eyes widening impossibly large, welling with tears. 

The sight did nothing to move him.

“What did you see?” Severus asked, straightening once Petunia had vanished.

Albus took a moment, knowing he had to be careful. It was all conjecture, this fledgling hope, and if it all came to naught Albus was keen to spare others the pain.

“Enough.” Albus knew it was a non-answer, and could see by Severus’ scowl that the young man was irritated by the dodge, but his mind was pulled elsewhere.

Without another word he turned and walked swiftly back to the house. If the four behind him followed, he took no note of it, intent on what he knew must be done next. 

The rest of the Order and the Weasleys were gathered as they had been that morning in the living room, though far more of them were gathered at the window- clearly having watched the entire exchange with Petunia through the glass. Molly had taken his seat, as she’d promised, but another chair had been pulled up beside the body and that was where Remus was now perched, clutching at one of the boy’s hands with both of his own, staring blankly ahead of him. 

“Albus,” Molly was on her feet and at his side in an instant.

“A moment, Molly.” He quickly cut her off. 

“But-“

“Please.” He urged, and pressed forward until he was at Remus’s side, looking down on the cloth he’d laid over Harry’s eyes- Harry’s closed eyes- the day before. 

Remus finally spared him a glance as he approached, his expression drawn and wary. Behind him, Albus could hear the murmuring of the gathered crowd, knew that they were all watching, but could not bring himself to care. 

“I apologize, Remus.” He said softly. “I am about to do something very distasteful.”

Then, he lifted the cloth and with a confidence he did not feel, gently lifted the eyelid of the eye closest to him. There was a clamour, and beside him Remus recoiled in shock, twisting his neck to look away. Voices rose up, but Albus ignored them, transfixed. 

“Bloody hell, Albus!” Remus swore, jumping to his feet. “What in Merlin’s name-“

“What colour are Harry’s eyes, Remus?” 

He felt, more than saw, the man’s glare. 

“Green.” Remus ground out. “You bastard, they were green.”

“Well, then.” Albus said, suddenly full of a feeling far too large to name, and fearing that if he smiled it might be misconstrued by the crowd at his back. “It appears that our grief has been misplaced.”

Harry’s eyes had been blue when he was born, just like any other infant. Albus had been introduced to the baby by James and Lily soon after birth, happy to give his well-wishes in person. Within months, though, they had changed and brightened to a bright, vibrant green. Even more brilliant a colour than his mothers. If Lily’s eyes were jade, Harry’s were emerald. A brightness that, by the time Harry reached his first year at Hogwarts, seemed to have resolved itself back into matching his mother’s shade exactly.

The eye staring up at him was, as it had been in Petunia’s memory, brown.


	4. Chapter 4

The first bone Remus had ever broken was his radius, an open fracture break to his left forearm the result of an unsupervised encounter with a temptingly climbable tree. He’d been- the decades that had past since the fall clouded the memory, but Remus could place it sometime just before he’d been bitten. Young enough that the sight of the blood and the bone had convinced him that he was going to die, that the pain he was in was the worst pain anyone had ever been in, and no one could possibly have such hurt and survive.

What a little idiot he’d been.

Greyback’s bite had been worse, and every moon would be worse than the one before. He’d break that same forearm 16 times before even arriving at Hogwarts, and other bones besides. Even surrounded by stag and rat and dog, his skin felt paper thin. He was a mess of hairline fractures, ready to implode, sometimes only held together by their love and his own spite.

He hadn’t wanted to hold Harry when he was born. They’d crowded into Lily’s hospital room, of course. Of course they had. James had been a lighthouse, thousand-watt smile and sprayed by saltwater. Lily had smiled, exhausted and triumphant. Harry was so, so small in everyone’s arms and Remus knew how Greyback’s bite had changed him and, shit sometimes he could shatter a pint glass if he wasn’t careful- But then James moved so quickly and there was a warm weight in his arms and Harry’s whole head was cradled in his hand-

Remus had always been very careful. There were instincts, drives and demands that were always in the back of his mind. Going to Hogwarts, choosing to be a wizard and not one of Greyback’s pack, meant keeping all of it under lock and key. Remus did not scratch the itch. He didn’t like to think like a werewolf. Didn’t work to hone his senses or exploit his strength.

But when he pressed his face to the top of Harry’s dark downy head and found nothing but soft milk-sweet scent, he looked up and allowed himself to think of them all as a pack- his pack- for the first time.

Then came the war, and with it-death, and then Remus was alone. For Harry’s safety, Dumbledore had said and for Harry Remus could wait. For the last member of his pack, Remus would face each new day and each full moon alone. He would keep his distance, stay quiet and tame in the eyes of the ministry so that maybe, one day, he’d be allowed to see his pup again. When he’d finally been able to see Harry again, the toddler he’d known had disappeared and been replaced by a boy the absolute spit of James. Suddenly, faced with the opportunity he’d waited and wished a decade for, Remus froze.

Harry had friends. He was quiet, but kind and capable. He’d obviously been raised to be humble and helpful even if Remus doubted he was quite happy. What could Remus ever offer him? All he had left was grief and memories of people Harry would never know. Remus could be content being Professor Lupin. If Harry was safe, if Harry was alright, Remus would be fine never being Moony.

Remus had always been good at lying to himself.

When Sirius had died, Remus had convinced himself that death held no horror for him anymore.

He’d been wrong.

Because when he’d seen Harry’s body in the hall of Number 4, something inside of Remus had broken. Some tether in his mind had snapped, the last straw found and shredded. It was just as he’d felt as a child. It was the worst pain anyone had ever been in, no one could have such hurt and survive. He would not survive it.

But one guess, one glance and suddenly Remus was left holding grief he might not need because the boy they’d found hadn’t been Harry at all.

It made no sense.

Even hours later Remus could do nothing but turn things over in his mind, but no matter how he tried there didn’t seem to be an answer, at least not one that satisfied. He was left, then, to scowl over the early-morning crowd of Diagon Alley from his designated position between Madam Malkin’s and Fortescue’s. Leant up against the wall, and with a Notice-Me-Not in place, he tried to keep his mind on the task at hand but every dark-haired young man that passed him set his teeth on edge.

The Order had agreed (once not-Harry’s body had been explained as best Dumbledore could and then sent away to be held at Hogwarts) to follow up on Hermione’s ‘warning’. Some had doubted the credibility of a teenage girl’s counter-intelligence, but there had been an open understanding that the Order had been handily outmaneuvered and could not afford to stay on the back-foot.

So, Remus scowled and scanned the crowd and watched out of the corner of his eye as Molly wandered past and ‘did the shopping’. Across the alley Remus could just barely see the hem of the moldering grey robes that Bill and Tonks were using to disguise themselves as a pair of hags chatting at the corner to Knockturn. Members of the Order were stationed up and down the alley, some disillusioned and some disguised. Dumbledore himself was somewhere nearby, though Remus had been the first to arrive and hadn’t yet seen the man.

That, and Remus was almost certain that if he made eye contact with the Headmaster he might still kill him.

Best avoid the temptation.

Hermione’s letter had mentioned being at Flourish and Blotts in the morning, but there’d been no sight of her as the sun rose higher and higher over London.

At least they could be sure that the storm she’d mentioned really was metaphorical, Remus thought and shifted his weight just enough for his eyes to move into the shadow of an opposite rooftop. The day had dawned clear and had stayed that way as the hours crept on. The good weather had drawn a crowd, everyone out to take advantage of the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky-

Looking up, Remus frowned.

Not a single cloud, but a hell of a number of owls. Post owls, over a dozen, who flew low overhead and dropped sheaves of paper that floated down to the people below. A special edition of the Daily Prophet. Remus snatched one out of the air.

A picture dominated most of the page, one Remus remembered the Prophet had used only a few weeks ago after the Dark Lord had attacked Hogwarts. Taken from a distance- Remus could remember reporters and photographers climbing the roofs in Hogsmead to try and get a look- it showed Harry in the aftermath. A small figure, out of focus, standing in the center of a smoking crater that had once been the Quidditch Pitch.

What the photo didn’t- couldn’t show, was the nearly 40 others who had been… destroyed in the blast.

It hadn’t been a duel. No magic, no spells, not even a wand drawn. The Dark Lord had secured a legendary artefact- Mordred’s Oath. It looked harmless, a rusted silver colored metal cuff, but it would bring any person within 50 yards under the control of the wearer, subjugating them to what was essentially a permanent Imperius curse. The Dark Lord had apparently set his sights on a child-army, a hoard of hostages and foot soldiers all in one, and as each wave of Aurors fell under his thrall his victory seemed more and more assured.

Until Harry, alone under his Invisibility cloak and mounted on his Firebolt, stole the thing straight off of the Dark Lord’s wrist.

The resulting backlash of magic had left only the two of them alive on the pitch. The Dark Lord fled immediately, and Harry was left alone in the center of the destruction, barely able to stand. When asked how he’d been able to resist the power of the artefact, the boy had supposed he’d just ‘flown fast enough’ to ignore it. He hadn’t come out of it unscathed, though, and had spent the rest of year in and out of the Hospital Wing.

**BOY WHO LIVED NO MORE?**

_Harry Potter, 15, the only known survivor of the Killing Curse has, according to a reliable source within Hogwarts familiar with the events, succumbed to injuries he received in his most recent battle with the Dark Lord._

_The Savior of Hogwarts, as he had been dubbed after the fact, had apparently sustained unprecedented levels of magical exhaustion after his attempt to end the Dark Lord’s siege resulted in an explosion that claimed the lives of 15 Aurors and 23 reported Death Eaters. A ruptured spleen, broken ribs and most concerning, a diagnosis of Infernal Haze all have contributed to the boy’s decline and eventual demise._

_Neither the Ministry nor Hogwarts representatives have responded to requests for confirmation, and it is believed that this matter has been kept quiet so as not incite panic. Albus Dumbledore has been notoriously cagey regarding information about young Potter- going so far as to hide the boy after the deaths of his parents, Lily and James Potter. It is no wonder, then, that the Headmaster may go so far as to hide the boy’s passing._

_While the Prophet waits for confirmation, a floo-hotline has been established and we encourage our readers to come forward if they have any information. Another special edition of the Prophet will follow-_

The whispers started almost immediately and Remus swore under his breath. Across the Alley, he could see the two ‘hags’ hunched over their own copy, and he was sure that the rest of the Order had followed suit. Whatever sunny-day disposition had filled the Alley before was gone, replaced by wary looks, hushed tones and quick strides. It was like he’d used a time-turner; he hadn’t seen Diagon like this since the first War.

A weedy looking wizard with a thin moustache sauntered over and stopped just beside him, making a show of kneeling down and rifling through his satchel. Remus did not move.

“Awful weather,” Remus heard the man murmur. “Looks like rain.”

Alastor. No one else had demanded to use code phrases, but Remus was thankful for them now. He allowed himself to relax, released his hold on the Prophet in his hands and grimaced at how he’d crumpled the page.

“No sign of clouds yet.” He replied dutifully. Neither of them turned to face the other, instead they kept their eyes on the street. Though the air itself seemed to thicken as the whispers grew, there was nothing out of place.

“The Prophet,” Alastor kept his voice pitched low. He pulled a pile of papers out of his bag and started to rearrange them on the ground. “You saw the boy, after.”

Remus made a low noise, catching his meaning. “It’s bullshit.” He confirmed. Remus had been one of the few, beyond Ron and Hermione who simply would not be told otherwise, to see Harry in the first days of his recovery. The fight had left Harry with punctured lung and yes, broken ribs, but Infernal Haze? Harry had been lucid the entire time, and hallucinations of Inferni would have been easy to spot.

“All of it?” Alastor pressed.

“Bullshit.” Remus stressed.

Alastor grunted, an odd noise from his disguised form. Remus wondered if he was charmed- maybe Polyjuice? “Who’d lie to the Prophet?”

“Who would they believe?” Most teachers close to Harry were already in the Order. Remus doubted that even a reactionary rag like the Prophet would take the word of a student as ‘reliable’ without proof.

“That’s the thousand Galleon question.” Alastor returned the papers to his satchel and stood. In the road, a broad-backed and ancient looking witch waddled along with a series of floating trunks behind her, hurrying west. “I’ve got a guess, but I’ve-“

Alastor was cut off by a loud rapid-fire series of cracks, and they both immediately took a half step forward, eyes focused down the Alley toward Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The Order had agreed on a signal, if Albus decided that their presence was no longer needed on the Alley. The twins would set off a firework display in front of their shop and the Order would know that they could leave their posts and regroup back at the Burrow.

But when Remus turned there were no lights in the sky. His pulse raced. Beside him, Alastor shucked his prop satchel to the ground. Everyone in the Alley seemed to freeze at the noise, no one sure where to look.

“Was that-“

Alastor nodded and Remus swore.

It hadn’t been fireworks, but the sound of a large group apparating. A hush fell over the Alley, like a communal flinch and an old, familiar instinct had him reach for his wand.

It was then that he saw Ron.

How had- he balked, wondering just how he’d missed him. Ron was in the middle of the Alley in front of Flourish and Blotts, alone and in plain view, just… standing there. Staring west down Diagon, his back to the Leaky Cauldron, not even hidden in the crowd. Later, Remus would be able to recall the sight of him as clearly as if it were a picture, and the clearest part of his memory would be the way he raised his wand just as the screaming started.

It came from Knockturn Alley, a shrill shriek that turned every head on Diagon and made something cold crawl up Remus’ spine.

Bellatrix.

Alastor was off and running toward the noise before Remus could blink. How had he not seen-? Remus was torn for only a moment before he made his decision. Molly had been meant to be the one to get the kids away from the Alley, if Hermione and Ron had been found, but she was too far away now-

There was the sound of an explosion, light in the sky, and all at once the Alley was in chaos. The crowd scattered as a cold wind picked up, sprinting in every direction in search of an exit or a place to hide. Remus, though, made a mad dash forward, Ron in his sights.

He only just managed to keep him in view, dodging and weaving through the throng. Most of the panicked crowd were running toward the Leaky Cauldron, a few trying to dive into any shop doorway that was still open. Remus barreled through, shouldering past a portly wizard and nearly lost his footing.

“Ron!” Remus shouted over the noise. Another explosion sounded, and Remus caught the sight of spells out of the corner of his eye. Smoke started to billow from Knockturn, turning a sickly green and starting to form the Dark Mark in the sky.

Remus dodged past a young mother, the baby in her arms wailing, and looked up in time to catch Ron move his wand in a wide arc. It was too loud to hear him, but whatever spell he cast erupted from his wand with a sizzling blue light. It arced outward and for a moment Remus worried that Ron was trying to contain the attack by conjuring a wall. He’d trap the Order and half the Alley if-

But whatever spell he used flickered brightly and then vanished. If he’d meant it to be a wall, it hadn’t worked. The people were still coming, stampeding down the street in waves.

“Ronald!” he called again. The few feet of ground he’d managed to gain seemed to be enough and he turned his head. They locked eyes just as Remus was caught between two broad wizards and Remus stumbled. When he looked up, Ron was gone, and cold dread settled in his gut.

Remus looked around wildly, but the crowd was moving too fast- someone collided with him and he nearly fell. He couldn’t fall. He had to-

He couldn’t see much between the rush of bodies moving past him, but a flash of red at the corner of Knockturn drew his eye. At first, he hoped he’d spotted Ron again but soon realized it was Bill, tall enough to be seen overhead, who was firing blindly around the corner, pressed against the wall. The brickwork just above his head exploded and the redhead disappeared.

“This way!” someone screamed, over the din.

Remus caught another voice. “To the Cauldron!”

“Run!” In the middle of the crowd, caught in the push, it was a storm of sound.

Remus tried to-

“-faster, find your father-“

-to make his way to the side-

“No! This way! Don’t-“

-he had to get to the others-

A spell missed him by inches and a witch a few feet ahead of him clutched at her neck. She fell with a gurgling noise, but Remus couldn’t stop- another spell sent a nearby cart alight, and the robes of another witch with it. Remus only just managed to avoid the trail of fire she left as she ran, screaming.

A lucky break in the crowd allowed him to get to the opposite side of the street and duck behind a stack of crates. He shivered as a cold wind whipped up. With the benefit of cover and despite the sun disappearing behind thick clouds, he could see exactly what was happening.

Diagon Alley was traditionally marked by three landmarks. On the eastern end was the Leaky Cauldron, butted up against the Muggle Charing Cross Road. On the western end sat Ollivander’s, and almost exactly in the middle was the dog-leg turn down to Knockturn Alley. From where Remus was crouched he could see the Dark Mark rising in the sky above Knockturn and spells being fired from both the east and west ends of Diagon, all aimed toward the pack of black-robed figures emerging from the smoke-filled side street.

The battle had turned the corner, literally, and he could now see that the Order was being pushed back along with the last of the running crowd. Half the Alley had run one way, half the other, and now the Order was split as well. He could see Alastor, Tonks and Bill on the retreat. Someone was providing cover, firing spells from the doorway of Flourish and Blotts. A voice, louder than the wail of the crowd, called for people to hide. Between the haze and the sudden darkness Remus could only just catch the sight of spells being fired on the other end of the Alley.

Bellatrix was the first to emerge from the smoke, stumbling as her body was bent, practically double, with laughter. From where he hid Remus wasn’t anywhere close enough to see her face, but the memory of her expression in the Department of Mysteries was clear as crystal. Behind her came five… seven- no- twelve other figures, bone white masks almost shining in the near noon sun. 

“Run!” Bellatrix called. A swipe of her wand let loose a jet of red light, aimed at nothing. “That’s right- Cowards!” she spat “Muggle-loving cowards! No Potter to hide behind now, is there? No more Chosen One. No more Savior. The Dark Lord’s power is endless-“

Remus lined up a shot and cast Bombarda, but one of the Death Eaters was holding a shield charm and it ricocheted away uselessly. In return Remus had to dive backward, his one curse returned by two others- one of which a cutting curse that tore the top crate to shreds.

“-all will bow before him! Is this your resistance?” she simpered as another volley of spells lit up around her. “Pathetic! Mudblood scum! Blood traitors! You’re too weak to even see the power The Dark Lord holds! He will hold the power of the ages in his hands, and any who stand against him will meet the same fate as your widdle-martyr-Potter.”

The last of the crowd had run, and a quick glance behind him showed people hiding wherever they could- those too far from doorways who couldn’t apparate away were huddled behind overturned tables and carts, pinned down with no means of escape. Remus tried to rack his brain, wondered if he could side-along and if so, how many could he take? Could he even reach anyone? If the Death Eaters gained any more ground, they were all sitting ducks. It was hopeless-

“Enough, Bellatrix.” Dumbledore’s voice rang out over the alley. Remus risked a glance just as one of the Death Eaters fired a slicing hex down the western end of the alley. He saw Dumbledore, framed between the backs of two of the group as they all turned to face him, deftly deflect the spell. The Headmaster stood, arms at his sides but wand at the ready. “Leave this place.”

“Leave? We’ve only just arrived!” The Death Eater’s around her laughed, a low noise that Remus could barely hear over the wind. “You know, as soon as I heard I knew that I simply had to throw a little party, so I invited all my friends and we’re here to celebrate! No more pesky Potter!”

“Are you here to join in, Dumbledore?” One of the masked figures called out. Remus didn’t know his voice. “Raise a glass to the poor little lamb? You taught him well!”

Another spoke out. “I bet he’s out shopping for the next one!” he sneered. “Don’t worry, old man, I’ll be sure to gut as many Mudblood sluts as I can. At least one of ‘em is bound to leave a baby for you to steal!”

Dumbledore stood, resilient. “Leave.” He repeated. Long shadows fell over the Alley as the clouds grew overhead. “You are surrounded.”

“Surrounded?” Bellatrix scoffed. “By who? Your precious little Order? Blood traitor Weasleys, third-string Aurors, and Ministry nobodies- oh, we know all about them, Dumbledore. The Dark Lord has eyes and ears everywhere.” She spread her arms wide and spun in a triumphant circle. “Through his power, we are made powerful! Through his will, we are brought to the path of victory! You claim we’re surrounded?” Bellatrix declared.

Remus watched the cold mist of her breath rise above her head and suddenly he realized that his teeth were starting to chatter. What he could see of Dumbledore’s face was a mask, deeply lined.

“I must have forgotten to mention,” She just kept on talking. “We’re expecting our guests of honor. You see, it’s been an absolute age since they’ve been out-“

Cold- Remus was cold, the wind was a biting chill that blew almost straight through his robes-but that wasn’t right. He could feel it wasn’t right, but the feeling- the knowing, it was far away now. All he could feel was the cold-

“-and a celebration like this really does need a feast.”

They came from the north, rolling in like a stormfront over the high gabled roofs, engulfing the Dark Mark until it was nothing more than an odd green glow from within the swarm of writhing shadow.

Dementors. Too innumerable to count, more than Remus had ever seen, they flew in an inky black mass and began to descend on Diagon. From below, they blacked out the sky.

Once again, the Alley erupted into screams. Those who had hidden in the street began to run in blind panic. Remus staggered to his feet, fear spurring him along to desperate action. He knew he had to cast a Patronus, but his arm was shaking as he raised his wand and any happy memory he had once relied on seemed to vanish. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw a brief flash of silver wings, but Bellatrix and the Death Eaters cut off Dumbledore’s attempt with a slew of curses.

“Expecto-“ Remus tried again. Tried to think back but his mind was filled by blood and bone-

-Fenrir, standing over him. Mouth bloody, eyes wild-

-standing at Lily and James’ grave-

-traitor, they thought he was the traitor and they had never trusted him, not the werewolf, never the beast-

-smelling Harry’s blood, feeling like his heart would stop because his pup, his baby, his boy was gone. It was all gone, now. No point any longer-

There was a screaming on the wind, a sound over the ghastly whispered noise of the Dementors and Remus’s eyes flew open. For a moment, it was if they were still closed. The Dementors crashed down toward the Alley like a dark ocean wave. There was nothing but their inky, greasy, tattered cloaks. Their hoods like gaping mouths, covering the horror of their faces.

For a moment, there was nothing but black.

Then, a light.

From the south, from deep within Knockturn Alley, there was a spear of light. It shot upward, bright as a star. It punched a hole through the mass of creatures straight to the clear sky above where a moment of blue was revealed. Remus felt the breath return to him. Astonished, he saw a brief beam of sunlight shine through the gap that had been left behind. What had- ?

Before the Dementors could regroup the light returned, this time from above.

It was on the second pass that Remus realized what it was. A patronus. A patronus so strong that it seemed to be doing the impossible and not dispersing the Dementors but destroying them. It was too far off to make out the shape, but it was large, and Remus’ relief overcame his curiosity. Overhead, the Dementors seemed to catch on quickly. They’d made it to the rooftops, only a scant few feet overhead, but every Dementor pulled up short and as if they were of one mind, all looked to the Patronus in the sky. It was eerie, to see their cloaked heads all move as one.

“What are you doing?” Remus heard Bellatrix screech. Suddenly Remus realized he could hear the cacophony of Dumbledore’s duel, the thundering in his ears fading away. “I command you! I command you to fight!”

The Dementors began to rise back to the sky.

“I thought you said you could control them!” one of the Death Eaters exclaimed over the sound of glass shattering. 

They flew up, back over the rooftops, up like a nightmarish murmuration of swallows- the formation undulating in frenetic patterns as the Patronus charged back and forth across the sky, disintegrating them in its wake. Warmth and clarity returned to Remus with each pass, and he forced himself to turn away, back to the fight on the ground.

“I can!” Bellatrix was focused on the sky, holding something aloft. “The Dark Lord said- he gave me the power- Obey!” she demanded. Beyond her, Remus could see the Headmaster block a blasting hex with a wall of fire that, with a slash of his wand exploded outward, only to have to create another shield when another two curses nearly hit. “Obey me!”

“Forget it, Bella!” The Death Eater that cast the Blasting hex said. “Come have some fun!”

“The old man’s getting tired!”

Without the Dementors closing in Remus cast a slashing hex, then ducked back behind the crate he’d been hiding behind. It hit Bellatrix square across the back and she cried out. Overhead, Remus saw another spell fly toward the duel and heard another shout. Remus hoped that Dumbledore would make use of the distraction-

But as Remus risked another shot and looked around the crate, he saw Dumbledore stumble. One of the Death Eaters caught him with a tripping jinx as he took a step backward to avoid the purple light of a blinding hex. Dumbledore fell to the cobbles below and as he landed another Death Eater seized the opportunity and took a running start, leaping into the air with their wand raised high.

“Siccabitur-AHHHHHH!“ Her shout was cut off as, mid-air, her body collided with a transparent wall of bright blue light that stretched across the width of the Alley, then faded. Her body fell with a sickening sizzle and crumpled, lifeless and smoking, only a foot away from where Dumbledore was hurriedly rising back to his feet.

“ALECTO!” Another Death Eater screamed, surging forward. “You bastard!”

The other Death Eaters, even Bellatrix, pulled up short. There wasn’t even time to wonder at what had happened though, because in the next moment the Death Eater charged toward Dumbledore himself.

“Avada Kedavra!” he cried. The Killing Curse exploded from the man’s wand, but he’d aimed wide and Dumbledore dove out of its way. The man re-aimed his wand, just as he reached the body of the fallen Death Eater. “Avad-!”

A second scream sounded, nearly exactly like the first.

Remus gaped and watched as the second body fell next to the first in that same flash of blue light. What had done it? Remus had never seen a spell like it before- a ward, maybe, but wards took time to build and tune. Almost useless in battle. Wards were shields- Whatever this was, it had done nothing to block the spells shot at Dumbledore. And- he’d never heard of a ward that could kill.

Another wall of fire came from Dumbledore before the Death Eaters seemed to be able to get their footing and they all scrambled backward. Remus took cover once again and managed not to be spotted as one of them turned and started running. Remus clutched at his wand. If they retreated far enough away from Dumbledore, east down the Alley, his cover would be useless. For a moment he debated again about apparating away-

A third scream made him pause, high and horrified before it stopped mid-breath. 

Remus craned his neck and gasped. There, barely three feet ahead of him was the same transparent wall of energy as on Dumbledore’s side of the Alley and, lying in a heap pressed against it, was the body of the Death Eater who had tried to run.

There, Remus suddenly realized, was where he’d spotted Ron earlier that day.

What had the boy _done_?

With his eyes trained on the street ahead of him, caught in his memory, Remus didn’t notice the swarm of Dementors until they were already upon him.

They came from behind him, swift as the wind.If he’d reached out his hand they would have been close enough to touch. Not hunting but running, trying to shake the Patronus that followed. They flew past, filling the air with unsettling noises like the low tones of pained moaning. Remus felt like he was only inches away, his jaw clenched with sudden and all-consuming fear.

They passed him by, and the echo of their darkness was replaced by bright light. Remus saw the Patronus- a great, silver stag toss its head and catch a Dementor’s cloak in its horns-

His heart stopped. Felt like it stopped, but obviously kept beating because he watched as the light of the Patronus- _Prongs’ light. Harry’s light_ \- envelop the Dementor it had touched until it burned away to nothing.

Prongs chased the Dementors down the Alley and the remaining Death Eater’s ducked as they flew overhead, then up and away. Remus, blood singing with the rising hope within him, shot two of them with Disarming hexes so strong that their wands flew beyond the strange wards. The tallest of the Death Eaters returned fire and Remus felt shards of wood stick into him as the crate he’d been using as cover exploded. He sprinted across the Alley and dove behind the raised steps of the stationary shop.

From there, Remus could see most of the entranceway to Knockturn. Prongs had emerged from there, and Remus desperately tried to look beyond the remaining Death Eaters, now divided and trying to fend off redoubled attacks from the Order, to see anything in the smoke still billowing out. Despite the haze, Remus could see a third matching barrier stretched across the street, glowing faintly blue.

“What is this, Dumbledore?” Bellatrix snarled. Remus moved his attention to her. “What are these wards?”

She and the tallest of the masked Death Eaters had returned to dueling the Headmaster two-on-one. Dumbledore was holding his own, but Remus could see his movements slow.

Bellatrix’s dueling partner sent three bludgeoning hexes in quick succession. Dumbledore managed to block two. He summoned a cart from the side of the alley to take the impact, but the third caught him on the shoulder and sent him spinning. Bellatrix moved her wand in a complicated pattern and what looked like a sheet of ice appeared before shattering, the slivers sent flying toward Dumbledore’s exposed back.

Remus raised his wand, but the shield charm died in his mouth when a streak of magic came from Knockturn Alley and cast a barrier around the Headmaster.

A figure came walking out of the smoke and suddenly Remus had to wrestle with two opposite truths.

It was Harry. Seeing him then left Remus feeling exactly the way that he had when he’d seen the boy on the train, nearly twelve years since he’d seen him as toddler. Like recognizing a face he’d only seen in dreams. It was Harry. It couldn’t not be Harry, but this boy- this young man- was made of different details. Taller, broader, his face no longer quite as soft. Lily’s eyes were still there, but far more intense as they stared Bellatrix down, and the scar Harry had always tried to hide under his hair now spread across his temple in jagged lines.

“Potter!” Bellatrix’s dueling partner sneered. Remus recognized Lucius Malfoy’s voice. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who recognized the boy. “Impossible!”

The Alley fell to a hush, then rose to murmur as Death Eaters and Order members alike caught sight of the boy. The remaining Death Eaters turned their attention to Harry and Remus wondered how, or even if, he would be able to get to Harry before Bellatrix. Dumbledore seemed to be having a similar train of thought, but when he took a step forward Malfoy moved to block his line of fire.

“Bitty baby Potter,” Bellatrix crooned through the pale blue glow to Harry, who did not flinch. “Look at you, all grown up! I’m so disappointed. Why aren’t you _dead_?” like a snake, Bellatrix lunged, and a long whip of fire cracked straight at him. Harry deflected it with an impressive shield and just as quickly took three long strides-

“Harry!” Dumbledore shouted, but the boy moved through the barrier and made a beeline for Bellatrix, his wand held high.

“How?” Bellatrix demanded as Harry charged. Remus saw Harry cast at least two Confrigo’s and wondered, belatedly, who had taught him Auror-regulated spells.

“How am I not dead?” Harry cocked his head to the side, and Remus was struck by a memory of Lily, staring down a pig-headed third-year James. “I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. Your Master has never been good at killing me. But if you mean the wards-” He moved, quick as a blink, and fired a Bombarda that just missed Bellatrix’s head and sent her stumbling toward one of the barriers. She quickly righted herself, her face ashen. Harry grinned. “They’ll kill anyone that crosses. Anyone with a Dark Mark, that is. You’ll have to shop elsewhere.”

“Is this what your little Order is reduced to?” Spittle flew from Bellatrix’s mouth. “Dirty little tricks?”

“Oh, it’s not a trick.” Harry’s voice carried clear and loud, nearly echoing in the still that had followed. “I really thought it was obvious. This,” said Harry, as he caught Bellatrix in a leg-locker. “Is a trap.”

_thwish_

The sound came from above, only audible because of the quiet that had followed Harry’s words. It was the soft noise of something moving through the air, like the flit of a Snitch’s wings. Almost silent, until-

A Death Eater, the one closest to Remus, screamed. The long bolt of an arrow protruded from the space just below his collarbone and he brought his hands up, ineffectually pawing at the wood.

_thwish thwish_

“Confrigo!”

“Expulso!”

It all seemed to happen at once. Harry and Bellatrix started to cast as more arrows were fired. Harry’s fireball hit its mark, blowing Bellatrix off her feet, robes ablaze. His next spell was aimed at another- who only half-managed to block the exploding hex and sent his mask flying. Lucius and Dumbledore were still caught in their own duel, but the other Death Eaters had turned their attention to Harry and Remus knew he had to act.

Remus left his cover and shouted “Incarcerous!” The unmasked Death Eater fell, bound and wriggling until Remus stupefied him.

Bellatrix scrambled back to her feet. Just as she raised her wand, an arrow shot down from above and landed deep in her bicep. She cried out as her arm fell to her side, useless.

Over the din, finally, Remus heard Aurors begin to arrive, but they were far off- the perimeter they’d set too far away.

“Crucio!” Lucius managed to hit Dumbledore, but his spell was short lived when he suddenly staggered back. An arrow had shot past him, close enough to leave a shallow slice on his neck. One touch of his hand to the blood and Malfoy apparated away.

“Enough, Bella!” A Death Eater cried. Another arrow struck off of the cobbled street, inches from their leg. Remus cast a freezing spell that hit their ankle and a spreading block of ice stuck them to the ground.

To his left, Remus saw Alastor and Bill charging forward, Tonks bringing up the rear with a limping stride. Across the barriers Remus could see Kingsley, Arthur and Fleur all gaining ground. From either end of the Alley, following the charge on both fronts, scarlet robed Aurors began to appear. The arrows stopped.

“That’s right Bella, enough.” Harry spat. “Haven’t you embarrassed your master enough for one day?”

Remus swore when the Death Eater he’d been about to stun disappeared with a crack. Though he was morbidly pleased to see that in their haste they’d splinched themselves- most of a foot, boot and all, was still trapped in the ice. He found a new target, but they apparated away too. The rest of the shrinking group seemed to take their cue and whoever was still on their feet beat a hasty retreat in a chorus of cracks that reverberated through the stone-lined alley.

Bellatrix was the last to go. Bent double over her injured wand-arm, she grinned at Harry- a predator showing her teeth.

“Bye-bye, baby.” She simpered. “I’ll see you soon.”

Dumbledore levelled a stunning spell but missed by half a moment and a small pool of blood was the only thing that marked where she’d been standing. Harry stayed where he was, his wand arm lowered and his expression unreadable.

Beyond the still shimmering wards four Death Eaters were now captive, all bound and lying as still as the three that had died. Remus rushed forward and stood as close to the magical barrier as he dared. He’d seen him cross, and had heard his claim but-

“Harry.” Remus breathed. Behind him, he could hear the Aurors and the Order and Alley, but he refused to look away. Remus felt stupid, but he felt stuck on just how much taller Harry was. How much older he looked. How, he marveled, how had Harry hidden this? Or, was this a disguise? Where was Ron? Had Hermione ever even come to the Alley, as her letter had said? He’d seen no trace of her. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“Remus.” Harry nodded. He didn’t move, still stood in the middle of the cut-off section. Remus felt his heart lurch unsteadily in his chest. What had he expected? Even before all of this, Harry’s open affection had been reserved for Sirius. To hope for more- Remus swallowed thickly.

“Harry, please-” Dumbledore pleaded. He, too, had crowded close to the barrier on his side of the Alley but had not crossed. A bruise was blooming, pale green and yellow across his cheekbone and Remus wondered whether it was that or something else entirely that was causing the shining in his eyes. “Come away from there. I must see- I… I would like to ensure-” Dumbledore, who Remus was certain had at least 13 very eloquent and polite ways to tell various heads of state to fuck off, stumbled over his words as if one poorly worded phrase would send Harry running. Remus wasn’t sure he was wrong. “Please, would you come here? I know there’s much for us to-”

“I said the barrier was safe.” Harry said. He glanced at Dumbledore, then quickly looked away. Remus saw a muscle in Harry’s jaw jump. “You saw me cross.”

“We saw these wards kill three people.” Dumbledore said. His voice was low and measured. “And you, my- And you, Harry, have been known to beat the odds in ways others cannot.”

“We just want to make sure you’re alright.” Remus tried to soothe. Like he had with Dumbledore, Harry glanced at him and then studiously kept his eyes averted. “We’ve… we’ve been worried, pup. All of us.”

Again, that little muscle jumped. There was a space of time where Harry didn’t reply, a long stretch that felt like an eternity to Remus and left him wondering. Was it all so broken? Had they lost him?

“Ron, Hermione and I made these wards. I promise you, as long as you’re not Marked, nothing will happen if you cross.” Harry said eventually. Remus fought a gasp. They’d _made_ these wards? Harry’s hands, shoved into the pockets of his jeans, were obviously balled into fists. Harry stood, straight backed as a soldier and finally raised his head to meet their eyes. “You can trust me.”

It took a moment before Remus realized what was happening. It was a line in the sand, even if Harry hadn’t said as much. A test. One that, at the moment, both he and Dumbledore were failing.

You can trust me, Harry had declared, but was it true? Remus had been so sure he’d known the boy, but he’d known nothing at all. Harry had told them nothing at all. Nothing about his Aunt and Uncle, nothing about the strange body-double, nothing about setting traps for Death Eaters without the Order’s knowledge. But here, in the aftermath of another pile of secrets Remus didn’t know he was keeping, Harry said that they could trust him. It could be just another lie, a platitude to keep them digging too deep into the life that Harry had obviously rather have kept from them.

Or, it was an olive branch.

You can trust me.

_Trust me._

They could trust Harry, but could Harry trust them? They’d been blind to so much. Content to believe that everything was as it appeared and to not ask questions. Harry had been overjoyed at the thought of living with Sirius, a man he’d never met who’d just spent 12 years in prison. Why hadn’t he questioned it? Nostalgia? Some need for redemption? Harry could have let them believe he had died. Without Hermione’s letter, Remus didn’t know whether they ever would have known.

The young man beyond the barrier looked more mature than Remus had ever seen him. Though this new Harry may have looked his age, he was still a 16-year-old boy. He was a child, Remus thought, and it wasn’t a child’s responsibility to make himself believable or trustworthy in order to get help or be loved. No matter what Harry might have done, the lies he told or secrets he kept, it didn’t matter. Harry was a boy, his boy, and Remus would no longer allow himself the luxury of trusting anyone else to make sure Harry was taken care of.

Remus walked through the barrier at the same moment, or near enough to be indistinguishable, as Dumbledore. The wall of light was imperceptible as he passed through. If he hadn’t seen the effects for himself, or if he ignored the bodies on the ground, Remus would have wondered if they were just for show.

“You can tell the Aurors that its safe-” Harry started quickly, as soon as they crossed, and kept speaking as they made quick work of the short distance between them. “They’re a modified containment ward.”

“Harry.” Dumbledore said.

“Ron had the idea to base it off of the muggle binary system,” Harry’s eyes had dropped back to the street. “Like a computer. Hermione has the schematics.”

Remus tried this time. They were close enough to touch, now. It took everything within him not to swoop the boy into an embrace. “Harry-”

“I know what you’re going to say, sir, and I- It was my idea.” Remus felt his heart clench. Oh, Harry. “I don’t regret it. They’ve gotten too confident, even after Hogsmeade- and you saw Bellatrix! What’s Azkaban to a Death Eater now?” he spat, then took a deep breath and shook his head. His hair was shorter now, Remus realized. Before it would have flopped into his eyes, but now it was cut close at the sides. “When the Aurors ask, I’ll tell them it was my idea-“

“Harry.” This time, Dumbledore reached out. He meant to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder, but as the Headmaster’s arm rose, Harry flinched. Remus’ throat tightened and he tried not to let tears push into his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. He’d presumed, of course- and Vernon had been… but Dumbledore hadn’t confirmed anything. He didn’t have to, now.

Dumbledore, for his part, froze in place before he slowly lowered his hand. Harry turned red, his mouth set in a tight line.

“Harry.” Dumbledore tried again. He moved to stand in front of Harry but kept some distance. “If you say the wards are safe, I will believe you. If you tell me that you felt they were the best option, I will believe you. Harry- would you look at me, please?” Harry lifted his gaze, but his expression did not shift from that same blank look. Dumbledore smiled wanly. “I believe it may be an understatement to say that we have much to discuss, and that those discussions will most likely be… difficult. But I am prepared to make you a promise, Harry. An Oath, if you would prefer. I would like you to be truthful with me, as truthful as you can, and in exchange- without hesitation, no matter what you say, _I will believe you_.”

There was a pause. Behind them, the clamor of the Aurors grew.

“You might not like what you hear.” Harry said, low and quiet.

“I expect I won’t.” Dumbledore replied. “But belief is the very least of what I owe you, Harry.”

Harry winced. “No one owes me anything.” Remus fought the impulse to argue. “And you don’t have to convince me. I’m not going to…. I won’t run.” He said, flatly. “I’ll go with you.”

As if he was offering himself up as a hostage, Remus marveled. But, he hoped, it was a step in the right direction.

The first step on what he imagined was going to be a long, long road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was like pulling teeth, but its finally done! I just started a new job, so my schedule’s been a bit out of whack, but I feel like I’m starting to get in the swing of things. 
> 
> Like Remus, I’m sure there’s going to be more questions than answers after this, but I promise they’ll be the focus of the next chapter. There was just a lot of groundwork that needed laying before we could move on to other things. 
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for your amazingly kind reviews! I didn’t expect much response, and I was blown away. I hope this chapter doesn’t disappoint. :) Fight scenes are touch, and I found out that Remus Lupin is a touch perspective for me to tap into. I almost gave up, but your support kept me going!


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, and in opposition to every expectation Albus had, Harry did not try to run.  
  
“And you say that Bellatrix Lestrange was the one to summon the Dementors?”  
  
“I believe so.” Head Auror Foster was the youngest Head appointed in over a hundred years, only recently appointed after the massacre in Hogsmeade. A tall, broad woman with close cropped blonde hair who if Albus remembered correctly, was just past 35. At the moment Albus was more concerned with her height than her professional accomplishments though. Tall as she was, Head Auror Foster was blocking his view.  
  
“And once summoned, you’ve reported that she attempted to command them but was unsuccessful. Correct?”  
  
Albus shifted his weight and fought a wince. His muscles protested, but the movement brought Harry back into view. A necessary discomfort.  
  
“Yes, she claimed that the Dark Lord had given her that power.”  
  
Over Foster’s shoulder, he could see Harry still standing with Remus in the warded section of the Alley. From even that short distance it was easy to see that they moved in tandem. Every step Remus took forward, Harry moved back. Always, Albus noticed, returning to the middle of the street.  
  
The boy’s whole body-language screamed it out. The crossed arms and clenched fists- this far and no farther- his gaze anywhere that wasn’t a person.  
  
“-the Patronus?”  
  
“My apologies,” Albus forced himself to bring his attention back to Foster. “It has been a rather exhausting morning. Could you repeat the question?”  
  
Foster nodded, no annoyance or judgement in her expression. “I’ve already heard reports that the Patronus was a stag. I’d just like to confirm that Harry Potter was the one to cast it.”  
  
For a moment, Albus entertained the notion of lying. When he’d seen Harry’s Patronus appear he’d first been relieved- both in the proof that Harry was alive and in the hope that Harry would be powerful enough to drive them away. But when the silver stag had destroyed the Dementors with a touch his relief had turned to astonishment.  
  
Dementors had been thought to be, essentially, immortal. Harry had once again done the impossible. Albus thought of the scrutiny that Harry would face it was public knowledge, the danger it might place him in. He was underage, had used magic out of school- his previous citation would mean that if the Ministry filed charges there would be another trial… But the form Harry’s Patronus took was hardly a guarded secret, and there were plenty of witnesses to confirm the animal they’d seen. To lie now would be useless, so Albus decided on the next best thing.  
  
“Yes, Mr Potter was acting on my orders.” He lied.  
  
“I’d say he’s a bit young for it,” Foster said ruefully. “But from what I’ve heard, Potter’s a special case. Best to get him training early, then, I suppose.”  
  
No. Albus took a deep breath. He wanted to protest that Harry was, actually, a child. A boy. He’d only ever wanted Harry to have a normal-  
  
“Very special.” Albus managed to say.  
  
Over her shoulder, barreling in a direct line from the other end of the Alley, Albus caught sight of Molly Weasley. Arthur was following close behind her, both of them making a bee-line for Harry.  
  
“I’m terribly sorry-“ Albus spoke before Foster could say anything else. “Just, a moment, if you would. I have to take care of-” Albus did not give any time for her to argue and strode back to the center of the Alley.  
  
Stepping through the ward was still nerve wracking. The bodies of the Death Eaters were in-situ, being catalogued by Aurors, but Harry had made no attempt to move away from them and neither Albus nor Remus had made any real effort in trying to do so themselves. Still, Albus held his breath as he stepped across and when, once-again he was not killed, his confidence in them grew.  
  
Molly apparently had no such misgivings.  
  
“Harry!” Molly was across the ward-line and had her arms around the boy before Albus could even make a move to intercept her. But, where Albus had expected Harry to retreat or recoil from the touch he was astonished to see that Harry allowed the embrace and, after a moment, returned it in kind. The shock continued when as he approached, he watched as Molly fluttered her hands over Harry- going so far as to take his head between her hands- with only a spreading blush from the boy.  
  
“How? This is- Oh, you’re so tall!” Molly exclaimed. She released her hold on his face but clasped at one of his hands, cheeks wet with tears. “Are you alright? When did this- oh, Harry, I thought you were gone.” Her voice broke just as Albus arrived.  
  
Harry smiled, but it looked pained. “Sorry, Mrs Weasley.”  
  
“We thought we lost you.” Arthur stood behind his wife, his eyes shining and his voice thick. “How are you? You’re not hurt?” Arthur reached forward, just as Albus had, and again Harry flinched away from the touch. Molly, engrossed in her own inspection of the boy and blinded by tears was distracted enough not to see it, but from two paces away Albus saw the exact moment that Arthur recognized the movement for what it was. The redhead’s expression shuttered for a split second before he was able to regain his footing. He retracted his hand. “No? Molly, give him a moment-”  
  
“Molly, Arthur-” Albus tried to intervene.  
  
“Ron,” She asked, quickly. “Where- is he with you?”  
  
“I saw him earlier.” Remus offered. A complicated expression flitted across Harry’s face.  
  
“He was here.” Harry said. He pulled away from Molly’s grip. “Hermione- They were both here. He’s fine. They’re fine.”  
  
“Yes, but where is he?” Molly pressed, face pale. “Harry, please. Where’s Ron?”  
  
Harry hesitated for a moment, looking deep in thought before he answered. “They’re both at the Burrow by now. Ginny’s probably already giving him grief for hexing her.”  
  
Albus fought a frown. Why would they be at the Burrow, if Harry had stayed on the Alley?  
  
“You’re sure?” She reached out- up- and gripped his shoulder. “Harry, you’re very sure?”  
  
“I’m sure.” Harry said. He was confident, assured, and looked at Molly with a steady gaze that Albus hadn’t seen since the boy had reappeared. “I swear. Ron’s back at home. I wouldn’t-”  
  
“Wouldn’t what? Lie to us?” Molly fixed Harry with a hard look, and Albus felt the renewed fear that Harry would take the provocation as license to run. “Lie to me? I think we’re well past that point young man.”  
  
But the words had already left Molly’s mouth, and for whatever part of him feared the results a larger part of Albus wondered at how Harry would respond.  
  
“I wouldn’t lie about that Mrs Weasley.” Harry said quietly. Albus marveled. He’d expected- well, he wouldn’t have blamed Harry in the slightest if the boy had been defensive. But this… was it resignation? Contrition? It smacked of something he hadn’t thought Harry would give them- Honesty. “Not about that. Not about him.”  
  
“Oh, Harry.” Molly sighed. She smoothed her hand down his arm and whatever steel was in her eye faded. “I know. I know. I just… I need to-”  
  
Harry shrugged. “He’s your son. I understand.”  
  
“Oh, no Harry.” Molly reached up to cradle his jaw. Harry looked perplexed but made no move to pull away. “No. Sweetheart, you don’t. It must seem as if-” she sniffled “As if we-”   
  
As she fell into sobs, and fell away from Harry, Arthur pulled her into an embrace and Harry… Harry stood there. He hadn’t seen it, Albus tried to remember, how Molly and Arthur had mourned for him. How they all had grieved. But it still left a hollow pang, to think that Harry might think the Weasleys would love him less because he did not share their blood.  
  
“We’ll go to the Burrow.” Arthur said. “We’ll send a message if anything’s amiss. You’ll follow?” Molly wiped at her eyes and Albus nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Harry, about to say something before the boy seemed to think better of it and stayed silent, his face becoming carefully blank once more.  
  
He could send Harry ahead with them, he knew, but… Something inside of him twisted and dropped at the thought. It was stupid. Harry was safe. He could see the boy with his own eyes, and he knew that Arthur and Molly wouldn’t let any harm come to him any more than they would willingly let him disappear again. But the thought of letting Harry out of his sight was, for the moment, intolerable.  
  
Especially as the sight of the boy was still so jarring. When the boy had appeared through the smoke and (Albus would readily admit) saved his life, it was only his scar that made Albus realize who it was. If they’d crossed paths any other day, Albus wondered if he’d even recognize him.  
  
The boy he’d known, a slight almost fey child the image of his father was nowhere to be found in the young man ahead of him. Even the color of his eyes, perhaps the one feature that Albus would have staked money on distinguishing against any other person, had changed utterly.  
  
Had Harry, the boy he’d thought he’d known, changed as well?  
  
To have known the child and been blind to circumstance, or to have been utterly fooled by the mirage of a boy he had wished into existence. Albus could not decide which was more worthy of rebuke.   
  
“When we can.” He said, with a wave at the destruction around them. “I must finish my discussion with Head Auror Foster, then gather everyone-”

“Not everyone.” Molly said. Her eyes were bloodshot, but she’d gathered herself together enough to face Albus, her tone brooking no argument. “We’re all exhausted, Albus. It’s been days. Everyone needs rest. I already had to take Kingsley to St Mungo’s for that slash and I… I need one night to have my house and my children to myself.”  
  
All true, Albus knew, and as the aching throb radiating from below his right eye was the least of his pains he was in no state to attempt to argue the merits of a meeting.  
  
And yet-  
  
“There is much to discuss-”  
  
“Not-” Arthur interrupted, his exclamation loud enough that he seemed to shock himself. “Not tonight, Albus.”  
  
Albus sighed and nodded. “Alright.” A particularly deep throb made him place a hand to his face and wince when the contact hurt more than expected. “You’re right, of course. With things… resolved,” he said with a brief look to Harry, who seemed either nonplussed or suddenly deaf, “Perhaps it is wisest to take a moment to pause.”  
  
“We’ll see you later.” Arthur affirmed.  
  
Molly nodded and turned. “Remus would you like to stay-”  
  
“Yes.” The word was out of Remus’ mouth before Molly could finish. The man flushed, his ears going red. “Yes please.”  
Molly gave him an inscrutable look. “Of course.” Then, that look turned on Harry. “We’ll see you soon, darling. Stay with the Headmaster. We-” she swallowed “We’re going to have a talk, young man. Understand?”  
  
Harry nodded but said nothing, wouldn’t even raise his eyes as Molly and Arthur took their leave. As they hurried along they only stopped to have a brief word with Bill and Fleur who were speaking with two Aurors, gesturing to the cracked front window of Flourish and Blotts.  
  
Albus allowed himself a deep breath before he turned to Remus and Harry. “I will endeavor to be as quick as I can.” He assured.  
  
“Of course, Albus.” Remus said. “We’ll be fine, won’t we Harry?”  
  
Harry again kept silent. There was a brief flash of green, half a moment of eye contact as the boy nodded, but nothing further. Remus grimaced faintly and Albus felt something twist slowly in his chest. Hopefully a few moments alone with Remus might set Harry more at ease.  
  
It seemed to take an age to finish answering Foster’s line of inquiry, regardless of Albus’ attempts to keep things at a clip. Remus relayed to the Order that they would not be meeting while Albus was occupied with questions. He told Foster what had happened once the Dementors had retreated, his duel with the Death Eaters and the cause of death for the three that lay in the street.  
  
That, needless to say, was a bit of a sticking point.  
  
“And just what am I meant to do with these?” Foster gestured at the plane of pale blue light. With each passing minute since their activation their color faded, leaving them almost invisible. “The Prophet’s going to have a field day.”  
  
“They pose no threat to the general public, as we have proved-” Albus said, motioning to the Auror examining the nearest Death Eater’s body, whose own body was currently halfway through the ward and decidedly still alive. It had taken repeated tests to convince Auror Command that the wards were safe for the unmarked to cross. All three: he, Remus and Harry had all been closely scrutinized, walked back and forth until Foster and her team were satisfied.  
  
Foster’s laugh was more of a bark. “There is a Death Ward in Diagon Alley, next to the ice cream shop, put up on my watch in my first month of holding this position… and you want me to tell the Minister that you not only would not tell me what the wards were, but that you also refuse to have them taken down? Not only that, but that I would allow that to happen?”  
  
Rather hard to remove wards he couldn’t recognize himself, but Albus kept his thoughts to himself.  
  
Over her shoulder Albus glanced once again at Harry, still standing in stiff polite quiet with Remus. The afternoon light was beginning to deepen, the shadows starting to stretch, and he was suddenly struck by the sight of deep hollows under Harry’s eyes.  
  
“Yes.” To her credit, Foster didn’t laugh. To his own, Albus elaborated. “Head Auror Foster, that is precisely what I mean.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “This is execution. Death without due process.”  
  
“And that?” Albus arched his brow, sweeping his hand and drawing Foster’s attention to the east, to a fallen figure in a doorway overshadowed by Aurors. “Pray, if you would like to discuss the semantics of ‘execution’, I have been told I am a lively debate. You’re right, the similarity in tactics to the Dark Lord’s followers is obvious. But at the very least these wards will not go hunting. If another Death Eater is killed, it will be because they crossed it themselves.” An expressive breath left him wincing. “They will either avoid it completely, thus improving the safety of the alley or they will be hoisted on their own petard, committing suicide by hubris.”  
  
He could almost feel his reputation disintegrating with every word. Dumbledore the pacifist, the mediator, the understanding… melting away to leave- what? Dumbledore the merciless? Foster was right. These wards… Harry’s wards, were extreme. It gave him pause, to think on who had raised them.  
  
Far better for Albus to play the part of hardened general, though, than to let Harry bear the burden of public scrutiny. It was one thing for Albus Dumbledore to be seen using his power and influence in the interest of public safety. For the Boy Who Lived, feared and adored in equal measure, to unilaterally decide to execute his enemies? There would be whispers, rumors, that one Dark Lord might be replaced with another.  
  
Foster heaved a sigh and went quiet. Pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Sighed again. “If the Minister asks, you were a combative, self-righteous prick who left against advisement and any and all questions or problems with these wards will be sent straight to you. At all hours of the night.”  
  
Albus took his own relieved breath. “Just so, Head Auror Foster.” The Minister would be a problem for another time, and if the Ministry was able to dismantle the wards on their own then all the better. His current focus was… “Pray, if you’ll excuse me-”  
  
Remus and Harry both looked to him as he approached. Harry had been staring into the middle distance, arms folded. Remus had been staring at Harry.  
  
“My apologies. That took longer than I would have liked.” Albus said into the silence, which stretched. If Remus had anything to say, he had evidently already tried and failed, a tense frown marking his brow. “Well,” he cleared his throat “Best make haste. We’ll be apparating to the Burrow, Harry, so I’m afraid you’ll have to Side-Along.”  
  
Harry, gaze locked somewhere two feet to the left of where Albus was currently standing, moved his head in what could charitably be called a nod.  
  
Albus held out his arm and circumvented what he presumed was going to be an anxious choice for Harry- to apparate with him or with Remus. He tried to steel himself against the possibility that Harry would reject that choice. Remus had always been close with the boy; he’d heard more than once that Remus had been Harry’s favorite professor-  
  
He was relieved beyond measure when he felt a firm grip at his elbow.  
  
“Hold tight.” Albus said and once he was assured that Harry would not be dislodged he nodded to Remus and the three of them apparated away.  
  
When they landed Albus expected Harry to stumble, almost certain that it was the boy’s first experience apparating. When they made contact with the green lawn of the Burrow, though, Harry landed solidly and quickly released his hold. Just as Albus was about to question it, the sound of muffled shouting came from within the Burrow and Harry was halfway up the garden by the time Albus realized what was happening.  
  
“Harry-” Remus called out, but Harry did not turn. He and Remus shared a look before they rushed after him.  
  
The shouting was emanating from the living room.  
  
“… understand why you would do such a thing!”  
  
Albus was shocked when he rounded the corner behind Harry and found that it was Arthur, not Molly who was now stood facing his youngest son in the middle of the room, both red in the face. Hermione stood near the fireplace, her face a stony mask and Molly was nearby, perched on the edge of a sofa seat, silent and drawn between her husband and son.  
  
“Of course you don’t!” Ron bit back. “That’s the bloody point! You’re all too stupid to see what the fucks in front of your face!”  
  
Ron and Hermione were unchanged from when he’d seen them last at the Leaving Feast. Their school uniforms had been replaced with casual muggle clothing, but neither had changed physically. Not like Harry. Three things drew his attention, though. Two large rucksacks at Hermione’s feet, two odd metal bow’s leant up against the mantle, and the left side of Ron’s face which sported the clear reddening outline of a handprint.  
  
Albus had never seen Arthur so furious. Drawn to his full height he was still slightly taller than his son, but Ron stood rooted, chin raised defiantly.  
  
“Watch your language, boy-”  
  
“Immobulus!”  
  
Though the spell only hit Arthur, it was as if the whole room had been frozen. Harry stood frozen too, wand raised and hand trembling.  
  
“Arthur!” Molly gasped.  
  
“Harry!” He and Remus spoke over each other. Albus could not believe…  
  
Hermione was the first to shake her stupor. “Harry.” She said, voice pitched low. She walked over to him quickly and reached out to touch his wrist. “Harry, its ok. Ron’s ok, it was… Ginny was upset when we got here. She slapped him. That’s all.”  
  
From behind the boy, it looked as if a string had been cut. Harrry’s wand dropped, his shoulders slumped, and he seemed to collapse in on himself. Remus took a step forward but Albus quickly reached out to halt him. Harry was obviously… nervous. It made his stomach roll to think about why, but he also did not wish to cause the boy any more stress.  
  
So, he and Remus watched as Hermione took Harry by the arm and led him to the nearest chair where he sat heavily, clutching its well-worn arms in a white-knuckle grip.  
  
“Sorry Mr Weasley.” He choked out as Ron quietly cast the counter charm on his father. Arthur reanimated without issue but Harry’s face pinched and twisted in obvious embarrassment. Hermione stationed herself at his side, watching on with concern. “I thought… I didn’t mean…”  
  
Something sour rose in Albus’ throat and he tried to distract himself with the conjuring of chairs for Remus and himself. He could guess at what Harry had thought. The fact that the boy had even considered it a possibility that Arthur would have struck his son, and might have done so a second time, was telling. He thought for a moment and placed the chairs across the room from Harry, far more than arms reach away but in direct eyeline. Remus gave a nod of thanks and sat, but Albus found himself unable to still.  
  
The high color in Arthur’s face drained away and left him pale, even as he waved off Molly’s attention. “It’s alright, son.” He said faintly. “No- No harm done.”  
  
“Sorry.” Harry winced and Albus fought the urge to go to him. He had to watch- listen to what was said, and more importantly what was left unsaid. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s ok, mate.” Albus was taken aback at Ron’s quiet tone. He’d never taken the young man as a particularly soothing sort, but as he watched him join Hermione at Harry’s side he was struck by how quickly his temper had faded. Whatever disagreement he and Arthur had been in the middle of had been immediately abandoned in favor of ensuring that Harry was settled comfortably.  
  
Molly made a quiet noise when Harry reached a hand to rub at his eyes. “Harry, dear…you’re trembling.”  
  
Albus saw it too. It was impossible to miss the tremor now that Harry was no longer clutching at the chair below him. His own worry began to gnaw its way up his throat as the plans he’d started to form about questioning the children dashed themselves quickly.  
  
“You said you weren’t hurt.” Remus echoed Albus’ thoughts. “Pup, please, what’s going on? We just want… Harry, we can’t help if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.”  
  
As soon as the words left Remus’ mouth it was as if a light went out. Whatever tender concern Albus had seen in Ron and Hermione seemed to disappear all at once and their expressions shifted into something hard. Over Harry’s head, Albus did not miss the way they shared a glance.  
  
“I didn’t say anything.” Harry replied quietly. He clenched his hands in his lap and only when Albus saw his knuckles whiten did the shaking stop. Casting his mind back, Albus had to agree. Harry had been asked, but not answered. Clever, he thought. Concerning. “I didn’t lie.”  
  
Not a liar. It had been the boy’s greatest worry mere moments after he’d admitted to murder, and yet Albus would have been a fool to believe that Harry had been fully honest since then.  
  
“But you didn’t tell us the truth, either.” Arthur sank onto the couch behind him. “Harry, why didn’t you say… Merlin, you still haven’t said what’s wrong.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but it was Hermione’s voice that rang out.  
  
“He needs these.” Harry whipped his head up to glare at her, but Hermione paid him no mind as she reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a scrap of parchment. “Potions.” She said as she crossed the room to hand it to Albus who studied it closely. “Fever Reducer, De Lokad’s tonic, Strengthening Solution and Wiggenweld’s potion.”  
  
Wiggenwelds? Albus had never achieved a mastery in potions, but he could recognize the name of the highly potent healing potion most commonly associated with Magical Exhaustion, a condition that was brought upon by a draining of a witch or wizard’s magical energy.  
  
The so-called ‘size’ or ‘amount’ of a person’s magic was usually a trick of fate and birth, and despite the general public’s belief a person’s available magical energy had very little to do with their power. Magic was more a wellspring than a muggle battery, a continually rejuvenating resource, but every witch or wizard could reach a point where they exhausted their supply. If the warning signs of Magical Exhaustion were ignored for too long, if a person’s magic was pushed too far too fast, the consequences could be severe.  
  
Harry, whose magic had ensured his survival from the decimation of half a quidditch pitch, certainly fit the bill.  
  
“Exhaustion?” Remus must have come to the same conclusion. The word drew a gasp from Molly. “But- When? Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t have let you leave the Hospital Wing if you were Exhausted.”  
  
Harry’s face was impassive. “She didn’t know.” Behind him, Ron crossed his arms and regarded them all stonily. Hermione moved and perched one hip on the arm of Harry’s chair.  
  
“Harry, that’s… impossible.” Molly said, eyes fixed on the boy. “I- we all were there, at one point or another. We saw her scan you!”  
  
Harry shrugged, though the action was far more deflection than apathy. “Her scans were wrong.”  
  
There. Again, curiously, young Ron and Hermione looked at each other and said nothing. Whatever they knew, they were not sharing.  
  
Molly was having none of it. “How?” she demanded. “It’s impossible to falsify the results of a diagnostic charm.”  
  
Harry stiffened in his seat. “Impossible?” he forced out bitterly. “Oh, of course, it must be my mistake. No one told me it was impossible.”  
  
“Enough.” Albus said. Molly started to object but fell silent when he leveled a glance at her.  
  
Personally, he agreed. It was impossible to falsify the results of the diagnostics that Poppy had used on Harry, and Albus was quickly tiring of these half-truths that Harry seemed to be so keen to cling to. And yet…  
  
“Harry, a few hours ago I made you a promise, one that I have no intention of breaking.” Harry’s guarded expression twisted something within him, but Albus continued. “Impossible or not, if you tell me that what you’ve said is true, I will believe you. We will believe you.”  
  
“We will.” Remus reassured quietly.  
  
Harry seemed to contemplate that for a long moment before he gave an almost shuddering breath and muttered, “It’s the truth.”  
  
“I will ask eventually, Harry.” Albus warned. It was clear not only from Harry’s face, but also Ron and Hermione’s, that his meaning was understood. Harry’s expression was one of heart-breaking naked relief. “Almost certainly far sooner than you’d like, I will ask. For now, though, I must insist on your health being the first priority and while I trust that your own estimation of your condition is accurate I will also insist that you be checked over tonight by someone of my own choosing. Professor Snape,” he said quickly, he expected to speak over an outraged outburst and was surprised to be met with silence. “While not a fully licensed and trained Healer is the safest option we currently have, and I trust that he will be accurate in his examination.”  
  
Accurate, and acerbic, but Albus was already readying himself to mediate what he knew was going to be a possibly explosive situation.  
  
“Yes, sir.” Harry agreed, with hardly any excitement but certainly no outward dread. Above him, Ron and Hermione kept their watch without so much as a twitch.  
  
“Very well.” Albus nodded “I will return momentarily.”  
  
He took a moment to step out of the house to send the message to Severus. With any other member of the Order he would have sent his patronus, but Severus’ role within the Dark Lord’s followers necessitated a far more discreet method of communication, especially when, like tonight, Albus was uncertain if the man may have been summoned.  
  
From the inside pocket of his outer robe Albus pulled out a small polished white button which he tapped with his wand three times. Charmed to pair with the cuff buttons on each of Severus’ dress shirts, it was a nearly inscrutable method to gain his attention. In his hand, Albus felt the return of three short vibrations and only then did he send the silver phoenix streaking through the now darkening sky.  
  
The heat of the day had vanished, leaving the summer night to begin with a cool breeze and a sky in the last glorious throes of the sunset.  
  
It would have been the night, this night, that Harry would have been buried.  
  
The thought came upon him suddenly, quick and strong enough to leave him with a tight chest and throat before he could even name the feeling. Was it relief, or just the release of the days adrenaline in the first moment Albus had to himself? Hope?  
  
He tilted his head back and watched a pair of sparrows flit between the trees as a tear tracked down his face.  
  
When Severus arrived Albus’ face was dry, and his eyes were clear. Severus apparated onto the lawn with a dark leather case in hand, already scowling.  
  
“Thank you for agreeing to this, Severus.” Albus said. “I know that you and Harry have had your differences in the past. It is commendable that you are willing to put them aside for tonight to help him.”  
  
Severus’ scowl only deepened. “There’s no need to double-talk me like an errant schoolboy, Albus. I don’t need a reminder to behave.” Albus was surprised when the younger man did not continue to the house immediately, but instead placed the case on a nearby bench and pulled out a small container which he held out for Albus to take. “Bruise balm. That black eye makes you look like a delinquent.”  
  
“Oh, yes. That.” Albus took it and gratefully applied a measure as Severus closed his kit again. “I presume the news has broken about the battle?”  
  
“Shattered.” Severus drawled. “No less than two other special editions of the Prophet. Pictures of Potter featured on both covers. They seem mostly concerned with Potter’s banishment of the Dementors and the wards that appeared on the alley. There seems to be some mystery as to their effect.”  
  
Albus sighed. “We will have to discuss them later. For now, avoid Diagon.” He warned.  
  
Severus fixed him with an inscrutable look but only nodded. “Do you have any other wounds?”  
  
“Nothing a good night’s sleep and a hot breakfast wont cure. Harry is the only one that needs examination.” He paused. “I will forewarn you, Harry has… changed. Either he has gone through a tremendous physical transformation since he was at school, or he has somehow been hiding his true appearance for far longer than I can guess.”  
  
A pinched look crossed Severus’ face, but it did not hold any surprise at the statement. “Taller?” he questioned flatly. “More prominent scar? No longer looks twelve?”  
  
Albus was about to question how Severus had known when the answer suddenly came upon him. It seemed a year since Severus had appeared at the Vigil. “You saw him.” He realized. “You thought he was a ghost.”  
  
Severus’ jaw clenched. “He appeared in the hallway outside of my chambers and I was alerted by my wards.” A nightbird called in the distance. “I let him in.”  
  
Albus’s eyebrows raised, practically unbidden. Severus was… well, private felt too understated a word.  
  
Severus gave him a scathing look. “I was pissed drunk, old man.” He admitted. “And I’d just seen the remnants of Potter’s brain matter splattered in that thrice-damned cupboard. At the time the proof was irrefutable. Potter could have cartwheeled into the room and I still would have thought he was a spirit.”  
  
It was difficult, being reminded of what he’d seen at Number 4. Though perhaps reminded was not the right word. The memory of it had whispered gently through his mind ever since. The moment Harry had stepped forward from Knockturn Alley, the smell of that bloodstained cushion, the must of that cupboard, had overcome the smell of smoke and fire from the battle.  
  
“Severus.” Albus caught him just before they entered, not entirely sure of what to say. The back stoop of the Burrow was cast in an orange light now, the glow from the lanterns inside drawing moths to the windows. It was a balancing act. Harry was wounded, wounded in ways that Albus could not yet imagine and the person Albus trusted to heal the boy was a man whose own wounds had never truly resolved. “Be kind, if you can. We do not wish to drive Harry to any further attempts at disappearance.”  
  
In the dim light, Severus’ pupils were indistinguishable from his irises. Black as his hair and filled with unmistakable incredulity.  
  
“I will be what I am.” Severus returned. He opened the door to the Burrow and turned back just before he entered. “I can assure you Albus, nothing would drive Potter away faster than any attempt on my part to be kind.”  
  
Albus followed him back to the sitting room and found things had not much changed.  
  
A tray had been brought in from the kitchen and sat on the low coffee table, crowded with food. A tea set, too, sat kept warm under a knitted cozy. No one had moved and the room was quiet when he and Severus entered, the air still with hesitancy and nerves.  
  
Severus strode in, heedless of the atmosphere and went straight to Harry. He cast a disparaging look to Ron and Hermione who still flanked the boy, each of them watching the room warily.  
  
“Granger, Weasley. Kindly vacate Potter’s lap.” Severus said. He placed his case on the end of the couch closest to Harry and opened it with deft motions. The inside of the case was just as it had been the last time Albus had cause to see it, neat rows of potions carefully labeled and secured within the lining. “If the Headmaster is to be believed, there is little time to waste by having my diagnostics interfered with by your unnecessary proximity.”  
  
The two wore matching scowls but followed instructions and vacated their positions. They settled together next to the fireplace, close enough to nearly touch. Harry regarded Severus warily, and Albus kept a close eye as the two sized each other up.  
  
“Won’t you have a sandwich, Ron?” Molly offered quietly, already loading a small plate from the spread. “Hermione? Can I get you a cup of tea?”  
  
“No, thank you.” Hermione said quietly. Her eyes stayed on Severus.  
  
Ron shook his head. “We already ate.”  
  
Over the years Albus had become quite familiar with Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, though he would admit that most of that knowledge was bred purely through proximity to Harry, and he could not remember a time when he had seen either of them look so outwardly suspicious. Argumentative- yes, frustrated- certainly, but the two of them now looked almost wary. Ronald, especially, looked like a young man in a foreign country for the first time… not a boy standing in the heart of his childhood home.  
  
“Oh.” Molly’s face fell. She looked lost, plate in hand. “You- well, alright.”  
  
“If I may, Molly,” Albus interjected. “I would not object to a small portion.” The sight of food had been a sharp reminder of his past fasting and Albus had always been partial to Molly’s cooking.  
  
“Of course!” Molly exclaimed, relieved. “You must be famished. You, too, Remus. Here, Arthur would you…”  
  
As Molly handed over two plates piled high with sandwiches, and a still pale Arthur poured tea, Severus and Harry stared at each other for a long moment. What either of them were thinking Albus could not guess. Severus stared down at Harry, who looked up at the man through eye movement alone- staring through the curtain of his own eyelashes.  
  
“Potter.” Severus said quietly.  
  
“Professor.” Harry returned, and it seemed with that the spell was broken.  
  
“To begin, I will perform a diagnostic charm on you, Potter.” Severus drew his wand. “It will take some time. While the charm is working, you will keep still. While you are keeping still, you will answer my questions truthfully and detail every expenditure of your magic that has occurred today. Have I made myself clear?”  
  
Harry took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”  
  
Severus gave a nod, stone faced. “Do you wish to remain here, Potter, or would you prefer to move to another room?”  
  
Harry’s sudden frown was telling. “Another room?”  
  
“Privacy, Potter.” Severus crossed his arms. “Do you wish for it?”  
  
Even more unsettling was the way that Harry obviously fought a smile at the question, as if something was terribly amusing. Albus regretted that he had not suggested it himself. Of course, the diagnostic spell did not have to be performed in front of them all. Harry, though, shrugged. “It’s fine. Go ahead.”  
“Do not be obtuse-”  
  
Arthur shifted in his seat, “Harry, son, we could move to the kitchen-”  
  
Once again Albus was left to wonder at the sudden shift in the room, and in Harry. The smile vanished and was overtaken by a dark look. Was it what Severus had said that had brought it out? The man himself?  
  
“I said,” Harry ground out. “That I’m fine.”  
  
Molly made a hurt sound and Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Fine.” He spat and raised his wand. “Dolor Inveniat.”  
  
The pale yellow light that emerged from Severus’ wand hit Harry and enveloped his body in a gently pulsing halo. Only just bright enough to be seen, it moved in a rolling pattern from his head downward. Harry, apart from the shaking in his arms, sat quietly as it moved over him.  
  
“Now,” Severus said as he conjured a quill and parchment which he set on a vacant corner of the coffee table. “Tell me, exactly, what you did today.”  
  
“Woke up,” Again, Albus marveled at what seemed to be an ever-shifting mood. Harry had been frustrated before, Albus would have bet on it, but quick as a snitch the boy’s voice had gone quiet again. Harry looked down at his lap. “Ate breakfast, did the dishes-”  
  
Where, Albus desperately wanted to ask, Where did you eat breakfast? Where did you sleep last night? Where have you been?  
  
“What magic you did today, insufferable child.” Severus snapped. He cast a spell and the quill stood on its own. “A full account of every spell you cast, Potter. If this is Exhaustion, its grade must be calculated.”  
  
By the fire Hermione crossed her arms, Ron nudged her with an elbow, but they remained silent watchers. What they were looking for, Albus could not guess.  
  
Harry took a moment. “Tempus.” He replied, and the quill began to scratch his answer down. “Accio. Aguamenti. Incendio. Scourgify. Expecto Patronum.” Albus frowned. Harry’s Patronus had been created by a regular Expecto Patronum? He’d expected that the spell would have been modified, somehow. “Protego. Protego again. Confrigo… confrigo again. Bombarda.” He paused. “I think it was a leg locker and then another Confrigo.”  
  
“That is all?” Severus scowled down at the parchment absently.  
  
“It’s every spell I cast.” Harry returned.  
  
Over Harry’s shoulder, Albus could see Hermione and Ron once again make silent eye contact with each other.  
  
Severus’ brow only knit further. He looked up sharply from the parchment and glared at Harry. “You are lying.”  
  
“Severus,” Remus warned. “Leave off. We can all see he’s Exhausted, you don’t need to interrogate him. Not tonight.”  
  
“I’m not lying.” protested Harry. “It’s the truth. That is every spell I cast today.”  
  
I didn’t lie. The memory of Harry’s voice called faintly in Albus’ mind. I didn’t say anything.  
  
“Harry.” His voice caused both young men to turn their heads. Severus looked half a breath from becoming apoplectic and Harry… it was the first time that Albus could recognize the boy he’d known in this new face. The stubborn tilt of the jaw, the flash of defiance in his eye… He looked so very young.  
  
“Apparation’s not a spell.” Harry muttered, finally. The quill scratched again, and Severus closed his eyes.  
  
“I am not,” he growled “Asking these questions for the benefit of my own amusement, Potter! You are being deliberately difficult-”  
  
“You asked me-” Harry glared mulishly.  
  
“Fine!” Severus snarled “If you wish to play the pedant, I will treat you as one. We will go through every bit of magic, verbal, non verbal, accidental or otherwise you performed in the past 12 hours until I am satisfied. Let us begin, Potter,” he took a half-step forward and loomed over Harry. “With the Apparation to which you admitted. How far?”  
  
Albus could see Harry clench his teeth together. “How far did I apparate, sir?”  
  
Severus sighed. “Potter. I have read your essays; I had not been under the impression that you had trouble in comprehending the English language. How. Far. Did. You. Apparate?”  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “France. Ron, Hermione and I Apparated to France this morning. Then, when we got back we Apparated again. To Diagon Alley.” 

Remus choked on his sip of tea, and Arthur dropped the half-eaten biscuit he’d been holding. Severus’s entire frame stilled and Albus felt the admission like a punch. Underage and unlicensed Apparation wasn’t common, but it certainly wasn’t impossible. What was impossible- had been impossible until a moment ago- was the circumvention of International Apparation Regulations. Apparation between countries was highly controlled, with preference for international travel placed on Portkeys. There were wards, complex wards, that would- should have- prevented access from any witch or wizard without government approval.  
  
“France!” Arthur exclaimed. He turned furiously toward his youngest son. “France? What on earth were you doing in France?”  
  
France, Albus also wondered, why France?  
  
“Honestly, Ronald!” Molly scolded. “You know better! I’d ask what you were thinking but I doubt there was a thought in your head when you decided to risk Splinching yourselves in bits all along the Channel!?”  
  
Ron squared his shoulders, even as he avoided his parent’s eyes. In front of him, Hermione’s mouth pressed into a tight line. Had they nothing to say? No, Albus was sure. This was not the silence of ignorance. This was a choice, and one that left him puzzled.  
  
“We went to France,” Harry snarled into that silence. He had stayed, throughout it all, perfectly still under Severus’s spell. It was still thrumming faintly around him, with Severus keeping a close and silent watch. “Because you all couldn’t leave well enough alone. If you hadn’t gone and-” he cut himself off, scowling at his knees.  
  
Beside him, Albus felt more than saw Remus react.  
  
“The Dursleys?” Remus breathed.  
  
The Dursleys? A sudden heavy feeling crawled through Albus’s gut. The Dursleys had all but vanished from his mind, content as he’d been to believe that Greyback or his pack had found and dispatched them. They’d- the thought of the memory he’d seen in Petunia’s mind, the implication of what he had Severus had found in their search of Number 4, watching through Kingsley’s eyes as Vernon had shot the boy as if he were a rat in a cellar- it all sent Albus’ heart racing with rage, even now.  
  
“Harry,” he found himself asking, “What did you do?”  
  
“Do?” Harry looked up and Albus found himself caught in his stare. “What do you think I did, Headmaster?” he asked. Harry laughed once, a short bitter sound, as if he had looked into Albus’ mind and seen the thoughts swirling there.  
  
Killed them. The thought emerged unprovoked and impossible to ignore, but Albus was cognizant enough of his own base urges to wonder whether the thought was what he expected of Harry… or himself.  
  
“They’re muggles.” Harry continued without pause. “I sent them home.”   
  
“Home?” Albus questioned, unable to utter more than the single word.  
  
“You saved them?” Remus demanded; his fists clenched in his lap as his face twisted in anger. “Vernon-”  
  
Harry made a wounded noise.  
  
“Be still, Potter.” Severus snapped. He did not move from where he stood over the boy, watching the proceedings with an intense look. The mention of his uncle’s name had sent some jolt through Harry, who grimaced and went still once more but whose eyes suddenly flashed with a fury Albus could not understand.  
  
“Are you going to try and tell me about my uncle?” Harry went on fiercely. “What he’s done? You don’t know shit, Lupin!” Remus paled. “Did you think that was- what? Justice? Those two couldn’t survive a night out in Croydon without a credit card and a hired car and you dropped them in the middle of Greybacks’ territory!”  
  
“Vernon killed you.” Remus growled.  
  
“He didn’t, though!”  
  
“He deserved-”  
  
“What he deserves isn’t any of your fucking business!” Harry seethed. “None of this is. Not my Uncle, not my Aunt, not me! If my idiot cousin hadn’t suddenly decided to grow a conscience this time I could have taken care of it like I always do. Kingsley wouldn’t have seen anything, and it would have been another normal summer. So leave it!”  
  
Though his first instinct was to discourage Harry’s foul language, a sense of alarm began to race through Albus’ mind as Harry’s words, and their context, truly began to sink in. (This time, he’d said. This time. Taken care of it like I always do.) Albus felt a cold sweat begin to break across his brow. His mind began to spin. He’d been told from such a young age that he was far too clever, but this was perhaps the first time he truly felt it.  
  
The outburst seemed to take the wind out of Harry’s sails. He sank back into his chair, pale and shaking and he lapsed into a silence that enveloped them all. Molly gave a loud sniff and Albus turned to see her crying quietly, Arthur’s arm slung around her as he looked, pinched and pained at Harry. Remus kept opening and closing his mouth, clearly at a loss. For his own part, Albus stayed quiet. He wanted to say so many things, but they all caught in his throat. They could wait, he reasoned, Harry would need to be in better health to answer… rested, at the very least, and Albus would-  
  
Well, he would have to not be so afraid to hear the truth.  
  
A quick glance at Ron and Hermione reaffirmed Albus’ suspicions. Neither of them seemed shocked by Harry’s words. In fact, both seemed to mirror a portion of his ire. Ron was glaring absently at the soot and charcoal in the grate, while Hermione’s gaze was fixed squarely on the back of Harry’s head.  
  
It was in this silence that the diagnostic charm finally finished its work and the faint glow that had surrounded Harry disappeared. As soon as it faded, Severus cast another quick series of spells that sent the quill and parchment into a flurry of work which he read and then retrieved four large phials from the case.  
  
“You, Potter,” he intoned as he used his wand to magically decant a dose from each larger phial into a smaller one. Two pale blue potions, one lime green and one an opalescent orange. “Seem to have the base survival instincts of an inbred pygmy puff. I am sorely tempted to demand you return to Hogwarts for further treatment, but I dare not risk you even travel via floo! You Apparated today? Multiple times, and in this condition? Merlin, save us all from idiot children. Give me your wand.” He demanded. “Now.”  
  
Harry glared, but it almost looked perfunctory. As if Harry could not drum up any more energy to truly protest. Albus’ worry grew as, when Severus held out his hand, Harry did as he was told and placed it in the man’s open palm.  
  
“If you wish to avoid permanent damage to your magical core or whatever pile of rocks you are using between your ears as a brain,” Severus pocketed Harry’s wand and retrieved the four doses of potions. “You will refrain from performing any magic until such a time as you are medically cleared to do so. Any magic, Potter. Am I understood? Verbal incantation or not, any further strain on your magical reserves could leave you permanently damaged.”  
  
“Yessir.” Harry nodded, but the action turned more into a full-bodied sway before Harry caught himself. There was no trace of malice or irony there, only the bone-weary tone of a child too tired to fight any longer.  
  
Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Where is Potter sleeping?”  
  
“My room.” Ron spoke out quickly, his expression suddenly alert in a way it had not been moments ago. “Top of the stairs and to the left.”  
  
Molly made to say something, but Arthur placed his hand on her knee and shook his head. “Yes. He’ll be up with Ron.”  
  
“Very well. Up, then, Potter.” Severus nodded sharply at Harry. “Your condition requires a strong dose of Wiggenweld’s potion, which will send you to sleep immediately. It will be far less of a headache to administer it once you are already in bed.” Harry struggled to his feet, but before Albus even realized how unsteady the boy was Severus had already taken a firm grip on Harry’s arm. Everyone, Albus included, moved to stand but with his free hand he waved them all away. “I hardly need help. Come along, Potter.”  
  
“We’ll be up in a minute, Harry.” Hermione said as Harry was escorted out, but Harry only gave a tired nod in return and they all watched until he and Severus rounded the corner and could be heard ascending the stairs.  
  
Then, quickly, the attention of the room focused on the two remaining children.  
  
“Well?” Molly rounded on the two of them. Her eyes were still red-rimmed but no longer filled with tears. “What do you two have to say for yourselves?”  
  
Ron heaved a frustrated sigh and his shoulders rounded forward. Hermione remained still as stone; her jaw clenched. “What do you want us to say?”  
  
“What I-?” Molly blurted out. “The truth, Ronald! I want you to tell us the truth!”  
  
“You ran off without a word to anyone,” Arthur checked off a list on his fingers, “Cursed your sister on your way out, somehow knew that Harry was alive and told no one! Broke a dozen Apparation laws when you snuck into werewolf territory…” he ran out of fingers and curled his hand into a fist that he clenched on his lap “Who knows what else you three got up to while you were busy hiding from your family!”  
  
Ron’s face reddened and he looked a moment from exploding in return, but Arthurs’ list brought something to mind.  
  
“How did you know about Harry?” Albus inquired. Ron turned to face him. “You appear to have left the Burrow before the news of...” Albus hesitated. To say ‘Harry’s death’ wouldn’t be correct and to mention the body felt… harsh. These were Harry’s friends. “Before word of the incident had a chance to reach here. How did you know to go?”  
  
They all watched as Ron opened his mouth, then closed it.  
  
“I-” he stammered. He looked to Hermione and swore. “We-”  
  
“We can’t say.” Hermione cut in. Albus fought his own sigh. He’d hoped that, of the two, perhaps Hermione might have been more readily reasoned with.  
  
“Hermione,” Remus said evenly. Deliberately. “I know how close you and Ron are with Harry and I commend your loyalty. Believe me,” he said darkly “I know what can happen when you put your faith in false friends. And I know you must think that you’re protecting Harry, but keeping these secrets isn’t helping. Its hurting. No matter what Harry has asked you to hide from us, we need to know-”  
  
“You need to know?” Hermione strode forward and took the back of Harry’s chair into a white-knuckle grip, her eyes ablaze.  
  
Ron reached a hand to her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “Hermione.”  
  
“No. You need to listen.” she said “You can ask us whatever you like about Harry, but the answer is always going to be the same. We can’t say.”  
  
A different tactic, then.  
  
“Very well then, Miss Granger.” Albus acquiesced over Remus’s noise of protest. “Perhaps you would be willing to tell us about what occurred this afternoon. I do not believe it would be such a leap in logic to assume that you and Ronald were the ones firing on the Death Eater’s from above?” he gestured to the bows behind the two of them. With a closer look, Albus could place them as muggle in origin, not overly tall in the same way a wizarding longbow might be, both made of sleek dark metal that curved and slotted together like a timepiece.  
  
Hermione regarded him for a moment. “You have always been a logical man, Headmaster.”  
  
It was hardly confirmation, but there seemed to be no other words forthcoming so Albus forged ahead.  
  
“Is there a particular reason you chose to use muggle means?” he tried to keep his tone gentle. “You both are of age, if I remember rightly. You might have used magic.”  
  
“We might have.” Hermione retorted. “But we didn’t.”  
  
Again, silence stretched. It was… baffling. Albus could not think of why the two of them would be so reticent to provide any explanation. They already had been, for lack of a word, caught. What benefit was there to continuing this secrecy?  
  
“This isn’t an interrogation,” he tried to soothe “It is only that I have questions- certain, important questions, that I would prefer be answered quickly. As Harry cannot, I had hoped that you two would be able to explain what has been going on.”  
  
Severus reappeared at the door almost silently, and gave only a brusque nod to signal that all was well. A small part of Albus seemed to unwind as he watched Severus cross quietly back across the room and settle himself in a near parade- rest, arms crossed, back behind the end of the couch. The sharp look of interest and attention in his dark eyes belied his bored expression, and Albus was comforted to have another set of ears.  
  
“There was…” Remus swallowed. “When Kingsley reported what had happened in Surrey, we found a body.” Albus looked quickly between Ron and Hermione and found no shock there. Remus continued haltingly. “Obviously, you know that it wasn’t Harry, but… it looks just like him. Like he used to. It- He… Is there a family we should contact?” he asked “Anyone who should know?”  
  
Albus had, in the brief time he’d had between discovering the body had not been Harry and appearing on Diagon Alley that morning, wracked his brain for who the young man killed by Dursley might have been. With Polyjuice, other temporary disguising potions and transfiguration ruled out by the body retaining its from after being undisturbed for hours, Albus had to resolve that the boy had just been a convincing double. Still that seemed impossible. No child of Harry’s description had been reported missing in either the magical or muggle worlds, and Albus was certain that Harry had been under 24 hour watch since leaving Hogwarts. Who the boy was and where he’d come from remained a mystery.  
  
Ron crossed his arms and spent a moment staring somewhere in the middle of the coffee table. Beside him, Hermione had relaxed her grip on the chair and drifted back to stand near their bags.  
  
“Hermione wrote that letter to Ginny.” Ron said finally. Albus could not fight the way his brows rose. “She…” he paused thoughtfully. “I don’t know what more we can tell you.”  
  
Remus’s face was painted with disbelief. “I asked you if we needed to find the family of a dead boy!” he exclaimed “You could start by actually answering my question! What- we don’t even know his name!”  
  
At the mantle, Hermione fiddled with the box of floo powder. In an instant Albus was on edge, wondering… but she did not take so much as a pinch, only played with the lid for a moment.  
  
“I wrote,” she said quietly “About recognizing real-”  
  
“Why on earth won’t you just answer us?” Arthur questioned. He sounded genuinely curious.  
  
Ron sighed. “Dad, we can’t-”  
  
“Well why not?!” Suddenly Molly lurched to her feet, eyes ablaze as she stared the children down. “You obviously know everything there is to know, so you might as well tell us! There’s no point to all of this- lording it over our heads… that you three have been so clever, so good at keeping your secrets.” Her voice cracked “This isn’t a game!”  
  
Ron turned to his mother. “Mum, we don’t-” But Molly was beyond the point of discussion.  
  
“Everyone had their doubts but I… I always thought you were smarter than this, Ron!” She said pointedly. A hurt expression crossed Ron’s face and he seemed to almost recoil. Arthur stayed silent, watching grim-faced as Molly rose to greater and greater anger.  
  
“Molly…” Albus tried to interject. Demanding answers would get them nowhere, not with these two. But Molly was not a member of the Order at that moment, Albus knew. She was a mother riding out the last terrible terrifying waves of adrenaline from the thought that she could have lost one of her children.  
  
“All of this, all these lies… do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she hissed at Ron “Your father and I have worked for years… years, trying to keep you safe! To keep you away from the war! And now you’ve thrown all that work back in our faces, sneaking behind our backs… all so you can get a taste of battle? Those wards of yours killed three people! Is that what you wanted?”  
  
“Mrs Weasley, that’s not fair.” Hermione said, but the interjection only served to change the trajectory of Molly’s wrath.  
  
“Fair? Young lady just you wait until I speak with your parents!” Hermione paled, though Molly seemed to pay it no mind. “Then you’ll see for yourself what’s fair. I’ve had enough.” She declared. Her eyes, usually warm, had turned hard as amber. “I’ve- that’s it. Give me your wands, the two of you, you’re both grounded.”  
  
Albus sighed and leaned back in his seat, watching as Molly did not so much cross the line as long jump over it. Ron and Hermione would have to be questioned, reasoned with, another time.  
  
“You can’t do that!” Ron exclaimed, half indignant and half amused. “Mum, we’re of age.”  
  
“I am your mother!” Molly cried, and all amusement faded. “I don’t give a damn how old you are- Until you stop lying and start being honest with us, about everything, I want your wands. Obviously you can’t be trusted with them!”  
  
It took a moment for the two of them to realize that she was serious, and then another for them to move.  
  
Hermione handed hers over first. “You’re not listening, Mrs Weasley.” She snapped. “We-”  
  
“I’ve heard just about all I want to from you two tonight!” Molly cut her off and snatched the wand quickly. “Upstairs.” She ordered. “Both of you. Now. Take your bags, leave the… the bows,” she stuttered. Albus mourned another question that would have to remain unanswered for the night. “And don’t you dare disturb Harry tonight!”  
  
Hermione took her leave quickly, her face thunderous. Ron watched her go and picked up his own bag before he walked to his mother. He held out his wand, chin set determinedly.  
  
“You have absolutely no idea what you put your father and I through.” Molly said sternly as she took it from him. “Fred and George were out searching all night! Ginny was worried sick! Do you really have nothing to say for yourself?”  
  
Ron looked at Molly, his face twisted with distain. “Don’t suppose it matters, does it?” he spat, eyes narrowed. “Like you said, you’ve heard what you wanted to.”  
  
“Ronald!”  
  
As Molly spluttered, Ron turned on his heel and left. Left the conversation, left the room, and left them all reeling in his wake.  
  
“Oh,” Molly let out a breathless noise and sank slowly to sit on the couch behind her, the two wands clutched in her hands. She looked down at them as if caught in a dream, regret writ large. “Oh… oh-no, I didn’t mean for… I only wanted to…” Beside her, Arthur once again took her into his arms. “What have I done?”  
  
“You mothered them, Molly.” Remus said flatly. He scrubbed at his eyes with the flat of one hand and waved indelicately with the other. “Mothered them straight to bed with no supper because they were very naughty children.”  
  
Molly sobbed and Arthur sent a sour look Remus’ way before patting gently at his wife’s hair. “Its alright, darling.” He murmured.  
  
“Certainly, an interesting tactic to try and get them to open up.” Severus drawled, moving to take Harry’s vacated chair and gathering the parchment on the table as he did. “One that may have worked if you were perhaps trying to get them to confess to sneaking out to a party, not deliberately obfuscating the truth behind the apparent mistreatment and attempted murder of their closest friend.”  
  
Albus took a long, deep breath. “It’s done now.” He rose and, despite the ache in his back, began to pace. Three long strides from one side of the room to the other. “Don’t trouble yourself too harshly, Molly.”  
  
“… such a cow about it all.” He heard her murmur into Arthur’s shoulder. Severus started writing, looking between both pieces of parchment in his grasp like a puzzle needed solving.  
  
“You weren’t a cow.” Arthur gave her a gentle squeeze. “You just lost your temper, darling.”  
  
“I doubt there was a path forward that would have led to the outcome we wished.” Albus admitted. “They… they all seem to have been bent on secrecy from the start, or, at least, for Harry to be the mouthpiece of whatever they admitted.”  
  
Remus scoffed. “And what was that? That they all allowed Harry to become Exhausted? That he is furious with us for taking any action against his relatives?” he shook his head. “They’re angry with us for not knowing anything, and then won’t tell us what we don’t know.”  
  
Three steps to the window, three past the fireplace. Albus had trod the same path on the night he sat Vigil, a short respite from the hard chair and the hard silence.  
  
“That’s what’s been bothering me most.” Arthur released Molly and shifted forward in his seat. “I can understand… Merlin knows how many times Fred or George have lied to our faces, covering up an explosion or a poor mark, even Percy told his share of porkers when he was younger. Children lie. They won’t want to tell you the truth because, obviously, they don’t want to get in trouble. But Ron already knew he was caught.” He pressed. “Ron and Hermione knew that we knew that they’d been lying. They know that eventually, we’ll figure out what they’ve been hiding, and they didn’t say that they won’t tell us,” Arthur frowned. “They said they can’t.”  
  
Three steps-  
  
Can’t.  
  
“Harry could have made them promise…” Remus offered.  
  
“Not a promise.” Molly said, eyes wide. “A Vow. Oh, Merlin. Ron could have-”  
  
“Ronald knows how to perform an Unbreakable Vow?” Albus could not help his tone. Ronald Weasley? The boy had always been described to him academically as middle-of-the-pack at best, made better through proximity to Hermione Granger. How on earth had the boy learned such a complicated Rite?  
  
Molly went red. “The twins had gotten into one of Bill’s Defense textbooks and decided Ron would be the perfect guinea pig. They were… couldn’t have been more than seven.”  
  
“I found them.” Arthur admitted “Hands held, George about to say the words. I… well, Molly isn’t the only one who’s lost her temper at our children.” he said with a blush of his own. “Ron was so young, it seems impossible that he’d remember, but I thought the same thing about Ginny and she’s been able to release the ward on the shed since she was six.”  
  
A Vow. If it were true, it could explain most if not all of Ron and Hermione’s reluctance. And would mean that Albus would have to be exceedingly careful moving forward. One question phrased without proper thought could be disastrous.   
  
“We don’t know anything for certain.” Remus pointed out. “We’ll have to find a way to ask. Though I don’t know... if a person makes a Vow, are they able to admit it? They’re usually used in such secretive circumstances.”  
  
“I suppose it will depend on the terms,” Albus pondered. “Even if we assume that they have taken a Vow, we still do not know when the rite took place, nor what was agreed to. If, as you say, Ron learned how to perform it at such a young age, I suppose we must not exclude the idea that they could have performed it at any point while they’ve been together.” A chance look brought his attention to Severus whose curious expression had changed into intense examination. “Severus? What do you have there?”  
  
Severus looked up from the papers, scowling. “Potter was telling the truth.”   
  
Remus levelled a look at the man. “You sound thrilled.”  
  
Severus ignored him. “I took the opportunity while you were engaged with Potter to not only run the diagnostic, but to also perform a charm that would provide medical context. A history of the boy’s health, over the past six months. Potter performed his harebrained stunt against the Dark Lord,” he sneered “over a month ago. There is no sign here of Exhaustion at that time, which is-”  
  
“Impossible.” Albus regarded Severus closely. Medical charms had to be done in person, and in close proximity, because they worked through a sort of attenuation to the body and magic of the person being examined. An examination could be used to discover long-acting curses, charms and spells laid on a body. Diseases, magical or mundane injuries... Without permanent transfiguration of the body, they were almost infallible.   
  
It had been a curiosity when first noted by Poppy, that despite Harry’s incredible show of magical power he had not Exhausted himself. They had all been far too concerned with the fact that Harry had survived at all, though, to question that fact too closely. Now, though… the thought of how Harry had avoided Exhausting himself was far more pressing.  
  
“According to the results,” Severus continued. “Potter did not become magically Exhausted until the day Kingsley reported him as dead.”  
  
An ache grew behind Albus’s eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose. His own fatigue was creeping closer and closer as the evening sky shifted to night. “So we must preclude that whatever method he used to survive is what caused his current condition. At the very least, I suppose, we can be thankful that he has not been suffering for too long.”  
  
“But he has been suffering.” Arthur, elbows on knees, grimaced. “What happened with his Uncle- I thought at first that Dursley had just gone mad, but then... Harry never mentioned the Dursley’s. Not to me. Or if he did it was...” he sighed and suddenly ducked his head into his hands. “In the Alley he flinched when I reached for him, and here... he thought I was going to hurt Ron. That sort of thinking doesn’t come from nowhere, Albus.”  
  
His heart sank at the words. At Arthur’s despairing eyes.   
  
“No,” he agreed quietly. “No, not from nowhere.”  
  
Remus swore and stalked to the window, shoulders shaking. Albus watched him and allowed a wave of regret to fall upon him. There was a man who could have- would have been a father, if Albus had seen past his own nose and made a different choice. A harder choice. A better choice.  
  
Molly reached for her husband’s hand. “How bad was it, Albus? Do you know?” From his seat Severus made a derisive noise and began to clear up the parchment, quill and case of potions. Molly sent him a scathing look. “I only mean that… well, I’ve raised seven children. I’m no stranger to taking an unruly child over my knee if I have to. Perhaps they just took discipline too far?”  
  
For a moment Albus wondered what he could admit to. He was sorely tempted to relay what he had seen in Petunia’s memory, but as of yet that was the only actual confirmation he had that Harry had been treated with overt malice. He wanted to unburden himself of the knowledge, to halve the load by sharing it.  
  
But who’s burden was it to bear, if not his?  
  
And, if he did give in to his own desperation, if he told them all that he had seen of Harry’s life- it would only be another betrayal.  
  
“This was not discipline.” He said heavily. Molly pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “But I will not say more until I have been given leave from Harry to do so. I will return tomorrow, to see if I might begin to unweave all of this.”  
  
“Of course.” Molly murmured. “Yes, of course.”  
  
Remus, who seemed to have collected himself, turned back from the window as Severus stood, case in hand.  
  
“If there is nothing else, I will take my leave.” Severus said. “Potter will need more doses of the potions he took this evening, but I have none to hand. I will bring them tomorrow.”  
  
“I can bring them, if you wish.” Albus offered, but Severus shook his head.  
  
“No need. I have my own questions for Potter.” He straightened his outer robes meticulously and gave a small nod to Molly and Arthur. “Until tomorrow.”  
  
“Severus.” Remus said quietly as the two crossed paths. “Thank you.”  
  
Severus said nothing but gave a quick nod as he left. Albus had long ago give up hope that the two of them would ever be friendly, but the grudging respect on both their parts was heartening to see after so many years of hostility.  
  
“I suppose it is also time for me to go and allow us all to rest.” Albus said. “I will return, perhaps mid-morning?”  
  
Arthur nodded tiredly. “As you like, Albus.”  
  
“Ah, what should we do with those?” Molly gestured to the pair of bows, still nestled next to the mantle.  
  
Albus thought for a moment. “Secure them, I suppose. Until we have more answers, I hesitate to be rid of them. Though, if Ginevra is such a deft hand at undoing your wards, perhaps they would be best kept somewhere other than your shed.”  
  
Molly rose. “I’ll find a spot for them. Now, Remus, let me go make sure Percy’s room is made up-”  
  
“Only if it’s no trouble, Molly…”  
  
Arthur stood, too. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay as well, Albus?” he offered as Remus followed Molly out of the room. “Bill and Fleur have been keeping an eye on Ginny, though I doubt she’ll be leaving her room any time soon, and the twins have said they’ll keep to their apartment while things get settled. We have more than enough room.”  
  
“A kind offer.” Albus said “But I am afraid, after these few days, the idea of sleeping in my own bed is one I can no longer resist no matter how reluctant I am to leave Harry.”  
  
Arthur looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, why don’t you check on him?”  
  
“I don’t mean to imply-” Albus backtracked quickly. He must have been tired; he didn’t usually blush.  
  
But Arthur just smiled knowingly. “Knowing they’re fine and seeing it for yourself are two very different things. I’ll be up at least twice to check on them myself, I’m sure.” He waved a hand to the door. “If it helps you sleep tonight, there’s no harm to it. Harry’s certainly sound asleep, he won’t even know it happened.”  
  
“Thank you, Arthur.” Albus said sincerely.  
  
The climb to the top of the Burrow’s stairs was, in Albus’ current state, uncomfortable. His knees protested with every step, and he gripped the handrail with, at times, necessary gusto. Up and up he climbed, struck by the framed photographs that crowded the walls. All the Weasley children were represented, chronicled in pictures showing every stage of their lives thus far. Gap toothed smiles, scraped knees and sullen teenage attitude. Pictures taken in their garden, their yard, around the cramped and heaving dining table. Molly, adjusting Charlie’s collar. Arthur, cradling two blanket swaddled bundles, beaming.  
  
Near the top of the stairs was a picture of Molly running after a toddler. She faced away from the camera, her hair long and shining red in the summer sunshine. The baby she chased was unsteady on his feet, dressed in a blue baby-gro, feet bare in the grass.  
  
Albus had to take a moment when he reached the top. Had to catch his breath. His heart was beating too- much too fast.  
  
When he had composed himself, Albus turned to the left and stood in front of Ronald’s door. He raised his hand, but then thought better of it. The wood might creak. He didn’t want to wake Harry. So, he drew his wand and with a wave, the wooden surface before him became transparent.  
  
The room was dark, but even without light Albus was struck by its color. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen such a shade of orange. Though he had made the door transparent to allow him to see inside, it was still physically there, and so let no light from the hall in. This left Albus to puzzle over what he was seeing for a moment before it all suddenly became clear.  
  
A second bed, more like a tall camp cot had been pushed up against what Albus presumed was Ronald’s bedframe, and Albus was stunned to see not two but three figures covered by a multitude of mismatched blankets. He couldn’t make out much in detail, but it appeared that Ronald and Hermione had resumed their places at Harry’s side, even in sleep. On Harry’s left, nearest to the door, Albus could make out Ron’s tall shape, on his back, his left arm flung over his head. On Harry’s right, Albus could only just see the top of Hermione’s hair. Harry himself was obscured almost completely from view, flanked by the two others, apart from one hand, curled around Ron’s right shoulder.  
  
There was a sound from behind him on the stairs. Albus turned to see Molly who walked quietly to stand beside him.  
  
“Oh.” She said softly, then sighed. “I couldn’t find Hermione. I suppose it was silly of me to think she’d be comfortable in Ginny’s room tonight.”  
  
“The three of them…” Albus murmured, and found he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to convey. His mind was a whirl, trying to piece together what he had seen and heard, what he needed to remember, what he wanted to forget.  
  
“I believe,” he said after a long moment. “That we are very lucky they have each other.”  
  
In the darkness, Ron heaved a sigh in his sleep and rolled toward the center of the bed. One motion set off a dozen others, all three of them rearranging minutely until eventually they once again stilled and slipped into even deeper sleep.  
  
Very lucky indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, its been tough to find the brain to make the words go. A new full time job plus regular life has made this chapter a bit of a bitch to work through, but now that I’ve got it all down I think things can start to flow a bit more quickly. Don’t quote me on that, though, I’ve been known to fib when I dont know what the fuck I’m talking about. 
> 
> Once again, everyone’s comments have like, floored me. :) I’m just glad people seem to dig my silly little head canon. Keep ‘em coming! I’m going to start to try and respond, as and when they come in, so if you’d like to say hi, feel free! 
> 
> Again, this isnt beta’d and usually I finish a chapter like, 30 minutes before I post. So, if there are spelling/grammatical errors, sorry but I ain’t got the time to deal with them.


	6. Chapter Six

Severus Snape had been born on a cold January day in 1960. He’d grown up in a muggle mill town nestled in the barren bosom of the midlands- sucked dry by Thatcherism, then spent his formative years at an upper-class boarding school surrounded by pure-blood toffs whose idea of slumming it was cherry picking the bits and pieces of muggle culture that made them feel rebellious and pretending they enjoyed them. He then stayed on at that that same school to teach the next generation of toff children who, knowing nothing of their parents, proceeded to do the exact same imbecilic things.

All this to say, Severus Snape was intimately familiar with the smell of muggle cigarettes.

So, when the early morning breeze carried the faint smell of tobacco and stale ash, Severus paused.

He’d only just apparated to the Burrow, keen to hopefully ask Potter his own questions before Albus arrived and everyone started eggshell walking again and had caught the scent just as he’d crossed the ward-line on the property. Ahead of him the house rose, impossibly angled and creaking ominously as the strong June wind buffeted against its sides, bending the long grass below in undulating waves.

The only trace of smoke from the house was the central chimney softly sighing woodsmoke, but as Severus indulged his curiosity and tried to discern if one of the children was sneaking a puff through a bedroom window he spotted a pale grey cloud rising above the roof of a ramshackle outbuilding to the west of the house. Arthur’s shed, if memory served.

Severus took only half a moment to decide and then veered off of the path and crossed the lawn. It could be nothing. It could be one of the older boys, perhaps even Arthur or Molly indulging in a secret vice out of sight of their innumerable offspring, but Severus doubted it. There was a far more likely culprit.

Potter. Severus knew it was the boy as certainly as he knew that the sun set in the west, as sure as he knew his own name. He would have called it intuition, but Severus had too many years of experience in trailing after Potter’s troublemaking to believe it was anything other than the product of well-honed, fine-tuned skill.

The shed, charitably categorized as such Severus thought, was a stone building with a low, long sloping roof. The wooden door that faced the house was made of slats of varying colors, as the Weasleys had obviously cannibalized other structures as needed to make the repairs. The windows were small, magic-made and mis-matched. Severus glanced into one as he stepped quietly around the side of the shed but whoever was smoking was not inside, but around the back.

When he turned the corner, though, he found nothing but a stack of firewood, an old, upturned wheelbarrow and a set of iron bars leant up against the wall.

The usual procedures flitted through Severus’ mind. He could check for disillusionment, dispel any notice-me-not charms, could summon the offending cigarette and reveal wherever they were hiding. But Severus had a far simpler method in mind.

He waited. Simply stood there, watching the empty space atop the firewood. If he was wrong- all he had done was stand in silence for a few minutes, and if he was right… well, the person- Potter, a small voice whispered- had most likely just taken a long drag. They’d have to come up for air-

The sound of a dry, hacking cough echoed through the quiet and Severus watched with rising self-satisfaction as Potter’s head emerged from beneath his invisibility cloak and released a cloud of blue-tinged smoke. The boy was indeed sat upon the firewood and bent double as he wheezed and barked his lungs back to function.

Severus took the moment and looked the boy over. He looked… better than the night before. Still pale, but the hand that held his lit cigarette looked steady enough. The Invisibility cloak slipped from Potter’s shoulders and Severus was afforded more of a view of the boy as a whole. Dressed in what he presumed were pajamas, a pair of dark sweatpants and a faded grey t-shirt, Potter sat cross legged and barefoot.

Barefoot. Barefoot and _smoking_.

As Potter managed to get his breathing back under control Severus suddenly found himself back on familiar ground with the boy, and the rush of annoyance was positively comforting. That annoyance only grew when Potter finally calmed and looked up with an expression not of a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but of someone who was being entirely inconvenienced.

Potter heaved a sigh that would have cleared the treetops, then- to Severus’ astonishment- took another drag. “You’re going to be a _bastard_ about this, aren’t you.”

Severus forced himself to take a deep breath, to still his hand and to quell the urge to show the little cretin just how much of a bastard he could be. Potter, the whole situation surrounding Potter, was- fragile, at the moment. Albus had seen something in Petunia’s mind and though Severus was tempted to believe that the Headmaster’s righteous fury could have been sparked by any perceived slight against his favorite boy, there was too much evidence of something… more. Worse.

Albus had said nothing of what he had seen, but Severus could not shake the memory of the way that he had thrown Petunia and her husband to the wolves- literally- without remorse. Albus Dumbledore was a merciful man. To see that mercy denied had only reinforced Severus’ own conclusions about what he’d seen for himself at Number Four.

Potter exhaled. Smoke curled up and around his head, a hazy halo around his messy hair and Severus shook off the memory of a dream he’d had in the fitful sleep he’d managed to get the night before. (Potter, this strange new version of the boy with a young man’s face and an old man’s eyes, had sat in his living room. Sat in his chair. Severus had been frozen to the spot, listening as the boy screamed and realizing with horror that the boy had no mouth. Potter cried and Severus couldn’t move, couldn’t get to the boy-)

Severus fell back onto what he knew.

“Hand them over.” He held out his hand, palm open.

Potter grimaced but reached into his pocket and produced a battered cardstock pack of cigarettes which he tossed over. Severus caught them easily, pleased that he still appeared to intimidate the boy enough to do as he was told.

“Lighter.” He commanded. He could see Potter’s expression shift into something that was bound to be a protest and he cut it off. “Unless you are prepared to admit that you were stupid enough to go against my express orders and used magic, you will hand over whatever means you used to light that cigarette.”

The small yellow zippo was thrown with more force, and Severus chose to ignore it but what he could not ignore was Potter taking another drag, staring defiantly up at him.

“Butt. That. Out.” He glared back as he made a show of pocketing the contraband.

Potter exhaled again and Severus watched as the boy expertly ashed the cigarette with a flick. “Or what?” The flippancy of his tone set Severus’ teeth on edge. So much for still being intimidating. “I’ve started it already. Just let me finish it.”

“Started it already, sir.” Severus corrected, almost automatically. What in Merlin’s name was this? This… Potter had always been reticent to treat him with any sort of respect, had always been mouthy. Contrary. A pain in the ass on his least annoying days. But he had never been this brazen. Had always, at the very least, maintained some veneer of courtesy. “And no. You will put that out immediately. If you wanted to poison yourself, Potter, I have enough faith in my teaching to know that even with your abysmal performance in my class you know there are far easier ways to do so.”

He’d hoped that his thinly veiled insinuation about the boy’s mental state would have goaded Potter enough to distract him, but Potter shocked him again when he smirked at the words.

“You know me, sir.” Severus felt his wand hand twitch when Potter disobeyed him yet again and took another lungful of smoke. This breath was quick, the exhale a short puff that was blown quickly away by a gust of wind. Potter actually leaned back, as if the pile of wood was as comfortable to him as an armchair and regarded him coolly. “I never do things the easy way.”

It had always been disconcerting, before, to see Lily’s eyes staring out of Potters face. Looking at him, always, with suspicion or distain. (Earned, something within himself always whispered.) But now… the discomfort he felt was from the fact that Lily’s eyes were gone. Potter’s face- Harry Potter’s face- was no longer the walking specter of James Potter as a boy and Severus felt like he had missed a step.

“I won’t say it again, Potter.” Once again, the rote response was out of his mouth before he could think. Potter might have him on the back foot, but the boy was still a troublemaker and Severus knew how to deal with troublemakers. “Put that out. Or would you like to dally and explain your little drug habit to the Headmaster in person? He’ll be along shortly, I’m sure.”

Potter snorted derisively. “Lung cancer rates don’t start to increase until 40. Professor Dumbledore doesn’t have to waste his time worrying about my health. Sir.” He added on belatedly, then added in a voice that left Severus with a chill he could not attribute to the wind. “As long as I’m still alive in September, I’m sure he’ll be satisfied.”

 _Satisfied_. Severus could not help but think of Albus as he had been during Potter’s vigil, pale and exhausted, drawn with grief that aged him in ways that the years had never been able to. The man had looked… withered, as he’d sat and stared at the body they’d all believed was Potter. For a moment Severus had allowed himself to wonder if the loss of Potter would galvanize the man or shatter him completely.

Part of him would have been willing to pay any price in order to see Albus disabuse Potter of his ridiculous notions, but there was another part of him that knew he did not want to be within a mile of Albus if Potter ever repeated what he’d just said.

Potter, though, seemed to take his silence as consent to keep talking.

“Look, I know you think it’s your job or something-” Potter babbled, speaking down toward his own knees. “But it’s none of your business what I do, and like I said, Dumbledore’s not going to care. Just… I _died_. Sort of.” He laughed mirthlessly. “You think the least you could do is let me finish my cigarette.”

Severus forced himself to take a breath and tried to ignore the sudden weight in his chest and the violent flash of memories. He could still see Kingsleys’ memory of the moment Dursley had pulled the trigger, the way Potter’s skull had given way… wide green eyes illuminated in the dark-

“The least I can do, it seems,” Severus said, voice pitched low to keep himself from shouting. “Is to remind you of the very fact you seem to have tried so hard to keep secret. That you did not, in fact, _die_.” Potter made a face. “You decided to double down on your deception and allowed the Order to believe your lie until you deemed it advantageous, and then you placed them all in harm’s way so that you could play hero and make a spectacle of yourself!” whatever restraint he’d managed to summon seemed to vanish. “The least I can do, Potter, is exactly what I have done because it is obvious that you are entirely incapable of taking care of yourself! You seem to hold the incorrect belief that I have to entertain your childish demands!”

“Childish? You- You think I can’t take care of myself?” Potter flushed, the tips of his ears turning red. “I didn’t have to come back!”

Ah. There it was. An opportunity. The first bit of information that Potter had voluntarily offered up, lying there before him like a fresh-snared rabbit. He could let it go and hope that that act of mercy would lead Potter to future cooperation, or he could go for the kill.

Severus had never been described as the merciful kind.

“Oh?” Severus raised an eyebrow. “No? Well then, Potter, tell me. Why did you?” he pressed.

He wanted to find it, the line that Potter knowingly or not had drawn around himself. Secrets and lies moved like circles, created spheres of knowledge around a central point. Potter had been clever, so far, to keep his secrets within reach but Severus knew that one moment of anger or distraction might be the thing to get the boy to crack and send his secrets spiraling away.

Potter’s mouth set into a harsh line and it became all too clear that the boy would tell him nothing. He sat there, the still lit cigarette wafting a thin stream of smoke into the air. Potter kept it in his hand, rested on a spear of split wood jutting up beside his knee.

Severus’ frustration mounted. Albus wasn’t going to get a word out of Potter if this kept up. Oh, there would be recognition of feelings and Severus was sure that no one would leave the discussion without being awash of tears, but he was just as certain that if they allowed Potter to continue on obfuscating that they would learn nothing.

“I could simply look into your mind, Potter.” he let the suggestion… the threat- float in the air, folding his arms across his chest.

The temptation was certainly there. Potter’s mind, he knew, was an open book. No matter how he’d drilled the boy in Occlumency- how he’d tempered and tested the fledgling mental barriers that Potter had been able to conjure, they’d never strengthened. Potter would be unable to resist.

It was hollow, though. To have to subject the boy to repeated mental attacks in order to attempt to shore up his defenses against the Dark Lord was one thing, but Legilimency was hardly a first-string tactic when trying to get a (theoretically) traumatized teenager to disclose their hidden history. Albus would have his head if Severus even attempted to test the boy’s mind without permission, let alone supervision. With Potter’s demonstrated lack of ability at even the most basic of defensive tactics, it would leave the boy in far too venerable a position.

He expected Potter to blanch at the thought of Severus’ ability to rifle through his mind unchecked but was surprised when Potter did not so much as flinch. In fact, Potter looked up, his gaze steady. Almost an invitation. His voice, though, was cold as ice.

“You could try.”

Something within Severus recoiled but he forced himself to meet Potters stare. He’d tell Albus about this… this bald-faced bluff? This obvious front? Potter had to be hiding behind this false confidence, he tried to assure himself, and whatever he was hiding would surely be of interest to the Headmaster.

Still, that did not solve the immediate issue of Potter’s insubordination.

“This is your last warning, Potter.” Severus took a step forward. Potter watched him warily, and Severus felt, finally, that the ground was solid beneath him. “Extinguish that cigarette. Now.”

To his credit, Potter complied.

To his condemnation, he did so by bringing it to his mouth and taking a single, long drag that all but entirely consumed the last half in a column of ash that he then contemptuously stubbed out on the wood behind his head. Severus watched with matching distain as Potter flicked the butt away and sat there atop the woodpile, staring and streaming smoke like a green eyed dragon, sat upon his hoard.

No- not a dragon. A teenage boy, throwing up a literal smokescreen of confidence, perched on nothing but kindling.

Severus did not acknowledge that Potter had done as asked, and Potter did not acknowledge that he had followed instructions and Severus had no clue where that left either of them other than at an impasse Severus had no clue how to break.

He should, he knew, order the boy to return to the house. There were four glass phials in his pocket that Potter was due a dose of, and it would be far easier to be believed that he had actually medicated the boy if he did so under the watchful eye of Molly Weasley. There would be little chance of any stray rumors of neglected duty if he was seen.

And yet…

Severus had never been one to overlook an opportunity, and this- Potter, alone and dependent on the potions that Severus had brewed…. it could not be ignored.

So, when Potter sighed and started to shift his way off of the woodpile, Severus halted him.

“No.” Potter cast him a wary glance. “Stay as you are. If you are so keen to spend your time outdoors, far be it from be to argue with you Potter.” Internally, Severus took quick mental stock of the diagnostic spells he’d learned the day before and made a swift decision. “The potions I have spent my night brewing can be ingested both indoors and out, and if I can avoid being hovered over by the Weasley harridan then all the better.”

With two swift steps he moved to stand next to the woodpile. If Potter was uncomfortable, Severus paid it no mind. The boy had chosen his place. If he wound up with a splinter in an unfortunate location, he’d leave it to Lupin to remove it. But… Severus could not shake the memory of what he’d heard the night before. Arthur had implied… Severus had not seen it with his own eyes, but Arthur had intimated that Potter had flinched when the man had reached to comfort him.

Severus could not remember the last time he had comforted anyone, but he had no trouble in approximating the sort of movement that would cause a child to… react. He’d seen it before. Not in Potter (never in Potter) but there had been a few students who, inevitably, were shaped by less-than-ideal home lives. Severus had always been able to pick them out. It took one to know one, after all.

Severus had never counted Potter amongst their ranks, though. Potter had never been skittish- hardly, he’d always been so very confident. Clever and combative. Independent. Ready to take on any challenge head-on.

So, when he approached the woodpile he did exactly as any Potions Master would do when confronted with a mystery.

He tested it. Thoroughly.

It wasn’t difficult to… broaden his movements a little as he reached for Potter’s potions. He extended his reach further than necessary. Moved quickly and watched closely as, with a snap of his elbow, his hand came within an inch of Potters head.

Severus did not claim to be an expert in any field other than Potions, but he was almost entirely confident that a normal reaction to such a stimulus would have been a flinch. A normal reaction might have been surprise, annoyance, or even anger.

Potters reaction was… nothing.

No, not nothing. The boy had stiffened where he sat and had maintained perfect, unflinching eye contact. Potter had learned, somehow, to suppress his own instincts.

It was, Severus mused as he felt a strange tightening in his chest, somehow worse.

“Here.” Severus lowered his arm and presented the first dose to Potter, who hesitated for only half a moment before taking and uncorking the phial. “You will split your dose of Fever Reducer, Strengthening Solution and De Lokads tonic each day. One half in the morning and one in the evening.” Potter downed the Fever Reducer and Severus was quick to snap up the empty phial and replace it immediately with the Strengthening Solution, which Potter drank immediately. “You will take a full day’s dose of Wiggenwelds at night. If you wish to make a full recovery, you will not miss a dose. Am I clear? Now,” he shoved the Tonic at Potter, who at last made a face (none of these potions were pleasant to take, but Strengthening Solution had a certain… bog-water charm to it) but choked down the Tonic without verbal complaint. “Do not move. I must cast another diagnostic charm on you.”

Potter slowly settled back, and Severus could almost feel the boy’s wary glances as he summoned quill and parchment once again. With further thought Severus charmed them both to float nearby, the writing out of eyeshot of nosy children.

“How long will I have to take-”

“As long as I say.” Severus snapped, his heartbeat quickening as he drew his wand and leveled it at the boy. “Now, quiet.”

Severus moved his wand in the same direct pattern he’d seen in the medical text he’d consulted the night before and a wash of pale lilac fell over Potter and began to pulse as he cast a silent Historia Salutis. Unlike the diagnostic he’d used on Potter last night, Historia Salutis was geared more toward gathering medical history than determining present illness. If Potter wasn’t going to offer up information on his own, and Severus could not foresee a situation in which Albus would be prepared to enter the boy’s mind, this was the next best option to fill in the missing pieces in Potter’s story.

( _How many pieces were they missing, though?_ He thought darkly. What they already knew was more than enough to lead to the conclusion that he was so desperate to disprove, despite the facts staring him in the face. No one had to finish a jig-saw to know what the picture was. It was on the box the whole time.)

The quill floating near his elbow began to write and Severus took a steadying breath. The spell had been a lucky find, a diagnostic used on patients with chronic conditions to help determine the timeline and emergence of symptoms. It would, working backwards through a person’s life, chronicle instances of illness and injury caused by what the text defined as ‘forces beyond the normal scope’. Small cuts and scrapes could not be addressed by the spell, nor the common sorts of coughs and colds, but anything beyond that would appear in the list.

The words began to flow, the list starting exactly as Severus had expected. There, in ink, the symptoms of Potter’s magical Exhaustion. Fever, tremors, lethargy and muscle weakness. He’d offered the boy the chance for privacy the night before had had been rebuffed. Evidentially, Potter did not care who knew the extent of his ailments.

Severus felt no compunction in exploiting that attitude.

Satisfied that it was working and that he could review the results later, Severus turned his attention back to Potter who was fiddling nervously with the hem of his Invisibility Cloak. The action caused the disorientating view of parts of the boy’s fingers vanishing and reappearing as he manipulated the fabric.

“Where are your two little friends?”

The diagnostic would take some time. Perhaps he could catch two birds with one stone.

Potter, though, seemed keen to remain obstinate.

“Thought I was supposed to be quiet.” The boy muttered. Overhead, a flock of gulls began to call. The light, which had been this far been tinged with the red hue of dawn, started to brighten. The day had begun in earnest.

“Quiet as I cast the spell, still as it works.” He sneered in return. Merlin save him from teenage attitudes. “Don’t try to get smart now, Potter. It doesn’t suit you. So?” he asked again “Where’s Weasley and Granger?”

“Ron’s doing lines in the bathroom and Hermione’s probably halfway through a fifth of whiskey by now.” Potter said breezily. His hands clutched at the cloak and his knuckles whitened. “You know, indulging their own little _drug habits.”_

“Potter-” The boy rolled his eyes.

“I dunno where they are.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall of the shed again. Long, dark circles ringed his eyes. “Sleeping, probably. I woke up first and left them upstairs.”

Severus could not understand why, if the boy was still as tired as he looked, he had gotten out of bed at all. Unless Potter was well and truly addicted to nicotine, there was nothing that Severus could think of that should have been able to break through the soporific effects of Wiggenwelds Solution. Worry began to gnaw, keen as anything, at something deep within.

“And what do they think of your smoking?” Severus had never thought he’d stoop so low as fishing for a lion, but Gryffindors tended not to bite for anything less than heavy handed hints. “I can’t imagine that Miss Granger would condone it, but then again it must be rather difficult to reign in your behavior when they seem powerless to talk about it in any real detail.”

Potter, infuriatingly, stayed as silent as if he had gone stone deaf- but his hands, which had still been fidgeting with the Invisibility Cloak, stilled.

“Did you think it was clever?” Again, Severus tried to find the line he needed to toe. One that would get Potter distracted enough, annoyed enough, to engage in conversation. The first target was the easiest- Potter’s buttons had always been easy to find and even easier to push. “Making Granger and Weasley promise- making them make a vow on their very lives and magic to keep your secrets? It’s a sure way to make sure you keep your friends, I’ll give you that, Potter. Almost worthy of being called a Slytherin tactic. Keep someone under a geas and they’ll tend to stick close, even if only for safety.”

To his right, the quill kept scratching and the list expanded to a second column. A quick glance was all Severus needed to see repeated entries of the same injury. **Laceration** \- Right hand – _blood loss_. **Laceration** \- Right hand – _blood loss._ **Laceration** \- Right hand – _blood loss._ It continued to repeat.

Young Miss Weasley suddenly came to mind- the small, raised scar on the back of her hand. Her right hand. Umbridge had only had her write lines twice, the girl had admitted. Potter, the parchment showed, had been subjected to the Blood Quill at least 14 times. Immediately, Severus trained his eyes on the boy’s right hand.

Even from a distance, he could see the words carved there.

They hadn’t been there before, surely. Severus desperately tried to cast his mind back through the last school year, to catch any shred of memory of Potter in class… in the Great Hall… Potter must have hidden it. Worn his sleeves long or kept his hand out of sight… He could not have spent a year- two years, without anyone noticing such an injury. A Professor would have seen. The Headmaster. A member of the Order. The Weasleys. If Potter had not hidden it, someone would have seen.

As a horrible, nagging guilt began to rise within him, so too did an anger that Severus could not place.

Potter, eyes still shut, seemed oblivious to Severus’ dilemma as he maintained his silence and suddenly that anger had an outlet. If Potter wasn’t going to respond to toeing the line, perhaps it would be best to push the boy beyond it.

“You’ve at least spared them from answering for all of this, now that we know you’d bewitched them.” He snarled “You, however, are going to have to answer for this asinine scheme.”

He watched, his ire only growing, as Potter took a breath and clenched his jaw. Close, Severus thought to himself, and narrowed his eyes.

“What, nothing to say?” he pressed. “What do you think your continued stubborn silence is doing? Who do you think you’re helping? I will make it perfectly clear- if you think that you will be seen as brave or trying to protect those around you by not telling the truth -”

Potter’s face finally contorted, and his eyes snapped open. “You think this was about protecting _other people?_ ” he snapped.

“I think,” Severus seethed in return, “That you care a great deal about what Albus thinks of you and your efforts, but he and the Order cannot help you, you little idiot, until you are finally honest with us about what has gone on. We must know-”

“That’s your fucking problem, Snape. You say you have to know-” Potter lurched forward, his face alight with anger and Severus quickly levelled his wand at the boy.

“Sit. Down.”

“That I have to tell you-” Potter glared but stayed on the woodpile. One hand tensed into a fist in his lap and the other clenched around the sharp shard of wood near his knee- as if it was the only thing keeping him seated. Even if he kept his body still, though, he hurled his words with force enough that Severus could almost feel their impact physically. “I don’t have to tell you shit. You’re so far up your own ass, you can only imagine that I’m doing this because, what? I’m trying to be some sort of poster child Gryffindor? Or is it like you said, and I’m manipulating everyone just because I can? Make up your fucking mind.”

“Watch your language, Potter.” Severus warned darkly. He did not lower his wand for a long moment and delighted in the dawning, uncomfortable expression that came across Potter’s face. “Remember who you’re talking to. The Headmaster might be willing to ignore your willful disrespect, but the Headmaster is not here, now is he?”

That delight, though, swiftly vanished as Potter’s face moved beyond discomfort and into something that Severus could only name as dread. Potter’s chest began to rise and fall quickly, and too-bright green eyes fixated themselves on Severus’ wand, tracking every move he made with it. Immediately Severus lowered his hand, but Potter’s gaze remained fixed.

“Sorry, Sir.” It sent something in Severus’ stomach plummeting when Potter spoke, his voice only just loud enough to be heard over the gentle noises of the morning. The boy seemed to shrink before his very eyes, his shoulders slumping forward, his head tucked just enough to still keep Severus in sight. “I wont- _sorry_ , sir.”

Severus wondered, through a haze of feeling that he refused to acknowledge, that perhaps the boy had already done so. This behavior… Severus had never, no matter how he’d raged and railed at Potter, seen the boy even pretend to placate him.

Someone else had, evidently, taught Potter to cower.

He felt his own hand rubbing over his face before he even realized he had moved. It felt as though he had reached the end of some invisible, intangible rope. Potter… Severus sighed, his fury abated.

He should send the boy up to the house to toddle back to bed. He should abandon Potter to the tender mercies of Molly and Lupin, to someone who had any sort of idea of how to… comfort the boy. He should leave. But the quill was still softly scratching and the answers they needed to actually help the child might not be found out any other way. Severus was even more certain of that now.

Potter had been right. He never did anything the easy way.

“Potter.” Severus took great pains to keep control of his voice. “Why do you insist on being consistently antagonistic, despite the fact that you have nowhere else to hide? We have surmised that you made Granger and Weasley take a vow. We know that you have been hiding what has gone on in the Dursley’s home.” He listed. Potter lifted his head, only a fraction, and Severus pressed on. He tried to be careful with his words. “We know that you took steps to… protect yourself, and that those steps resulted in the Order believing you were dead.” Potter’s hand, clutching at the wood beside him, flexed and tightened until his knuckles turned white from the effort. Severus could not understand why, so he tried to appeal to the boy. “Honestly, Potter. There is no point in trying to continue to keep these secrets! Your altruism is commendable, but ultimately foolish. It wont save anyone-”

“ _Me_!” Potter cried out, shocking Severus with the outburst. He stayed hunched over himself on the woodpile, but something had set him off enough to break through his sudden submission. “It’ll save me!”

“Potter-”

“It’s my life,” Potter went on, his face had twisted up into a pained expression. “Not some report for the Order. You think I’m worried about how Dumbledore might feel, hearing about-” he cut himself off and swallowed. “All those times you called me a selfish, nasty little boy and this, _this_ is the time you think I’m being altruistic? I don’t care!” he hissed “I don’t care if it’d hurt him to hear! It’d hurt me, Snape, it’d be like turning myself inside out and living with my guts in public. And since no one else seems to give two shits about what hurts me, I have to take care of myself!”

Severus stared at the boy. Potter was flushing, red creeping up his neck from the collar of his shirt, and Severus was trying desperately to calm his own racing heart. Potter had said far more than he had intended, Severus thought, and he needed to follow where those threads might lead.

“How the Headmaster might feel about what, Potter?” he prompted, his voice kept low and he hoped, calming. If he had felt at the end of a rope before, now, he seemed to sense a precipice inching closer and closer. If he was not careful…

Potter’s face shuttered closed. “You know what.”

Severus sighed. “The Order cannot help you, boy, unless you get over this unfortunate habit of presuming to claim to know what we are aware of. If you would just be honest, the Headmaster-”

“I don’t need your help!” Potter ground out “I’ve never needed your help!”

Severus almost laughed. He’d never seen a child more in need of help. Potter’s flush had abandoned him and left him pallid, enough so that Severus made note to remember to look at the boy’s dosage of potions. Yes, physically Potter was still unwell, but his desperation and… his fear, Severus realized, were palpable.

“It’s over, anyway. It’s done!” Potter kept on. The pale purple light around him flared and for a moment Severus worried that he might throw off the charm with accidental magic, but Potter held himself together. “You all don’t get to use my life as some sort of twisted pain porn to cry over-” Severus grimaced at the distasteful term, but Potter continued forward bullishly “And commiserate about how you never knew- how if only you had known, you would have-” Once again, Potter cut himself off abruptly and Severus nearly swore. So close to the truth.

“What, Potter?” he demanded. He took a careful step forward, knowing that it would cause him to loom over Potter’s head. The quill and parchment, still active under the diagnostic charm, bobbed along beside him. “If the Order had only known about what? You claim to know exactly how we would have reacted to-?”

Looking down on the boy, Severus caught an even better view of the words marring his hand.

_**I must not tell lies.** _

_I must not tell lies._

Potter looked up through his lashes, his spine held stiff under Severus’ scrutiny as if, at any moment, he would need to steel himself against an attack. Severus felt sick. “None of your fucking business.”

Well, Severus thought darkly as he fought to keep his temper, at least he could be certain that Umbridge’s torture of the boy had not resulted in a compulsion.

Turning on his heel he stalked away, needing more space between him and the boy, and quickly looking to the parchment to see if he could get an idea of how much longer he’d have to distract the idiot child before it was complete.

The quill continued to write, but one word caught Severus attention.

 **Starvation** – 3 days

He frowned and bent to take a closer look. Yes, there- To his horror, as he watched, the quill moved smoothly through the next twelve letters.

 **Malnutrition** – Chronic 

“This is taking longer than last night.” Severus heard Potter’s voice as if from a far distance. There was a roaring in Severus’ ears.

 _When_. The thought circled his mind like an errant snidget. _When_. How far back was the diagnostic now? Was this… It wasn’t unheard of, eating disorders among the student body. Potter might have-

“It is a different diagnostic, Potter.” He muttered, frantically scanning the parchment. He needed to find an injury of Potters that he knew the cause of. He had to understand the timeline. Had Potter broken his arm in his third year? Second? Both? Damn the boy.

“Which one?”

“One that I deemed appropriate, Potter.” Ah, there. Radius and Ulna – Broken, Removed, Regrown, listed above Starvation. The diagnostic worked backward, which meant-

“If you’re casting spells on me, I want to know what they are, Snape.”

“Sir.” Severus corrected, irritation growing at a pace with his distraction. “I doubt you will be familiar, Potter. It is hardly within your usual wheelhouse. It is called Historia Salutis.”

Christ, he couldn’t even help the boy without said boy getting in the way. He did not look away from the parchment as he continued to work out where he was in the boy’s history. Lockhart, the twit, had accidentally removed Potter’s bones early on in the boy’s second year… which meant that the starvation had occurred in the summer before-

**CRAACK**

The noise ricocheted like a clap of thunder and Severus whipped around to see Potter, wide eyed and white as a sheet, the splintered shard of wood he’d been holding on to now held aloft in his grip. Potter had torn it clear off of the log beneath him, both ends now coming to ragged dagger-like points.

Potter was going to attack him. The thought consumed Severus’ mind, to the point that he instinctually moved into a dueling stance. Whatever blow he expected, though, never came. Potter did not leap to attack, but instead raised the spear of wood high above his head before bringing it swiftly down and impaling it through his sweatpants and _into his own thigh._

Potter gave a cut-off cry, a noise that shot straight through to Severus’ gut as he stood and stared, astonished and uncomprehending.

The boy moaned long and low, but it was muffled by the clenching of his own teeth. He curled over his leg, hands fluttering over but not touching the shard still within him.

“Potter!” Severus exclaimed and started to close the distance between them. “You-”

“- should have known… never should have-” Potter bit out, muttering to himself as he climbed down from his perch. He cried out when he flexed his thigh and stumbled once he had both feet on the ground. Blood started to seep through the dark fabric of his pajama bottoms and Severus winced, seeing dark red start to spill over the top of Potters bare foot. “Should have known you couldn’t keep your big nose out it, Snape!”

“Stop this nonsense at once!” Severus demanded. Fear, cold and sharp, surged in his chest as he took another step forward only to have Potter nearly collapse in an attempt to move away. “Potter, have you gone mad? For Gods sake, why-”

“You had no- no right! Historia Salutis?” Potter clutched at the woodpile, balancing on his one good leg and looking at Severus with pure loathing. “Health History? Do you think that I just cast spells without knowing what the words mean, Snape? I know Latin! You- you fucking bastard!”

Ah. If he were honest, yes, Severus had presumed that Potter like most of his peers, simply memorized the incantations. The boy had hardly ever demonstrated that he’d understood more than the bare minimum.

“Your objection to the diagnostic I cast has been noted, Potter.” Now it was Severus’ turn to try and be placating, to see if he couldn’t coax the boy back from whatever edge he seemed keen to hurl himself off of. “There was no need, however, to go to such drastic lengths! Your hysterics have done nothing but-”

Potter’s mouth curled into grimace masquerading as a grin. “Seems like they did alright in stopping your stupid spell, Snape. Or is that diagnostic supposed to set fire to the parchment? I suppose I wouldn’t know, since it’s _out of my wheelhouse_.” He spat.

Set fire to the- Severus turned his head and swore. There, hanging in the air just to his left, the quill and parchment he had summoned to record the results were slowly drifting to the ground as they both were consumed by small blue fingers of flame. The particular spell Severus had used was specifically designed to deal with health history, not acute incidents, and the introduction of new pain in the middle of recording would overwhelm and override the casting. It had been listed as a warning within the text Severus had found it in the night before, but that begged the question: how in God’s name had Potter known about it?

Severus took an instinctual step forward. His wand hand itched to cast a healing spell- no, to get the boy in a leg-locker and simply cast his diagnostic yet again…

“Don’t you come near me!” Potter spat. He struggled his way around the woodpile and started hobbling, backward, along the rear of the shed.

Severus picked up the fool child’s Invisibility cloak, abandoned on the woodpile, and followed.

“Potter, enough!” he declared. The boy did not stop, and Severus winced as he watched him drag himself along the stone wall. “Potter, you might have hit an artery-”

Potter reached the front of the shed and Severus could hear his pained breathing. In front of them the lawn stretched, lush and green and without so much as a stump within 10 feet of the boy.

“Potter-” Severus gripped his wand tightly, debating the choice to simply stun the boy and simplify this whole process. It would do nothing but reinforce Potter’s distrust, though, so he resisted the urge. “I assume you mean to make it to the house? You have no hope of doing so on your own-”

“I don’t need help!” Potter hissed. “Especially not yours, Snape! I can take care of myself.”

Clearly. Severus wondered suddenly what Potter, who seemed content to grit his teeth and contend with what he deemed necessary pain, would consider to be care.

The only saving grace of this debacle of a morning was that both he and Potter had obviously made efforts to stay quiet enough to not draw the attention of the house, and that – thank Christ – Albus had not yet appeared. Severus knew exactly what this looked like. Potter, bleeding profusely and literally crawling away from him as he advanced, wand drawn…

“Harry?”

Severus froze. Ah, hell.

Across the lawn, Lupin- hair mussed and wrapped in his own threadbare dressing gown- stepped out of the Burrow’s back door and into the pale morning light. Even at his distance Severus could see the moment the sleep left Lupin’s eyes as he took a swift look at Potter, inhaled deeply, and then turned his inhuman amber gaze to Severus.

Well, he thought, _fuck_.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Albus arrived, Harry’s bloody footprints still led a trail through the Burrow.

Severus stood stationed on the lawn, alone, and looked as if he’d been dragged backward through a hedge. His face was smudged with dirt and was as sour as Albus had ever seen him. He’d opened his mouth to speak, but Albus had swept past him. Arthur’s patronus had been panicked, and though Albus sincerely doubted that Severus had struck a blow himself, he did not doubt that the Potions Master was the cause of this injury.

The first footprint Albus saw was on the wood of the back porch, though he was sure that there were more hidden in the grass behind him. They continued on, through the door and into the hallway where Albus began to hear muffled voices from overhead.

He followed the line, past the living room and the door to the kitchen, straight through to and up the winding staircase. Up and up. Even if the trail had been cleared, Albus would have been able to guess its destination.

“Harry, darling, please-”

As he ascended the last flight of steps, Albus could see Molly in a housedress pressed up against the closed door to Ronald’s room, her face angled to the door jamb. Behind her, arranged awkwardly on the small landing, Remus and Arthur looked on. Arthur, dressed for work, hovered close behind her and at Arthur’s side, Remus stood holding a tea towel filled with what Albus could only assume was ice pressed to a steadily blackening eye. Remus had dressed as well, but hastily it seemed, with only trousers and a shirt that he’d managed to button unevenly.

“I can heal you, dear.” Molly continued “Professor Snape is outside, he won’t be anywhere near to you, I promise.”

Arthur spotted him first.

“Albus-” he said, his voice hushed. Over her shoulder, Molly gave him a look of greeting but turned swiftly back. “It’s good to see you. It’s been… quite a morning.”

“So it seems.” Albus said. Remus pushed himself off of the wall he’d been leaning on and stepped toward them both. “What’s happened? You said in your message that Severus wounded Harry?”

“Ronnie, please-” Molly pleaded. “-Hermione?”

Remus sighed. “I made an assumption.” He admitted. “I heard a commotion from the yard and when I went to investigate… well,” he gestured up to his eye. “What I saw convinced me enough that I got into it with Severus”

“It wasn’t, though. Severus.” Arthur hastily added. “It’s the only thing we managed to get out of Harry before Ron and Hermione shut them all up back in Ron’s room. Bill and Fleur took Ginny to the twins place.”

“Yes, but what did happen?” Albus questioned. The trail of blood had not been insignificant, and he could not help the visions that swirled across his mind. Harry was hurt. _Again_. This time not just under their watch, but within the confines of the Weasley’s home. If his hair had not already been grey for 60 years, Albus was sure he’d have gone so overnight.

“Harry, I just want to make sure that you’re alright!”

“Severus admitted to trying to get Harry’s entire health history,” At first, Albus could only see the merit of it- Yes, it could… He could certainly understand why Severus had made the choice. It might save Harry having to relive- but then Remus winced “Without asking him. When Harry realized, he… well, he stabbed himself in the leg to stop the spell.”

Albus forced himself to take a deep breath. Of course. Of _course_ , Severus wouldn’t have tried to just talk to Harry, to perhaps try and convince the child that it might be an option to consider. To exercise even the smallest attempt to empathize with a traumatized young man, instead of foisting his decisions on the unwilling. In all of his long memory, Albus could not remember a single instance in which either of them had ever tried to simply talk with each other. What heartache might have been avoided if-

But Albus rarely indulged in his maudlin urge to consider what might have been. There was only here, and now. Which meant that he would have to deal with Severus’ lack of empathy at a later date. How a man who’d suffered from that lack within his own life could continue the scarcity when dealing with others- others that mirrored him so closely- Albus could not understand.

So, instead, he stepped beyond Arthur and Remus and made his way next to Molly. She looked up at him with shining eyes.

“They’ve been in there nearly half an hour.” She whispered. “I didn’t want to force the door open, but they… they haven’t said a word.”

“Would you allow me?” Albus asked. Molly nodded and stepped back.

Albus took another breath, this one rather more thoughtful than angry.

“Harry.” He said. There was no response, not even the echo of movement, but Albus chose to interpret the silence as attention rather than absence. “Harry, I am all too aware of how hollow any of my reassurances must seem at the moment, but that will not prevent me from saying them aloud. I have only a little understanding of the actions Professor Snape undertook this morning, but I assure you- his choices were his own.” He paused and was met, once again, with quiet. He sighed and pressed his forehead against the door.

This was not how he’d imagined today would have gone. He’d thought… hoped, that he might be able to navigate the waters that Harry had begun to bravely cross on his own the night before. Meet the boy in the middle, perhaps. Whatever progress they had made, though, seemed back to square one. Harry was back to that silent, wary young man- barricaded against any approach, any attempt to draw him out.

Albus could not find it within himself to blame him.

“I suppose,” he breathed, “You have made your own choices as well, choices that I will respect. If you do not wish to open the door, we will not force you to do so. I swear it, Harry. I- no, we will go downstairs. When you are ready…” he grimaced. “If you are ready, we will wait for you there.”

He ushered Molly away from the door.

“Albus, he’s hurt!” Molly objected, craning her neck to look back over her shoulder. “We can’t just leave them-”

“We must.” Albus said decisively.

Molly’s mouth pressed together in a tight line, but she allowed herself to be steered toward the stairs.

Arthur glanced at his wristwatch. “I have to go.” He said, frustrated as he joined his wife. “I’ll be late if I wait any longer. I’m sorry, darling.”

Remus hesitated for a long moment, then turned away from the door. “We could leave a healers kit outside the door?” he wondered. “Just so they have-”

There was the sound of a soft scraping, then the click of a door handle and all four of them turned quickly. The door to the room had been opened, but only so wide as to let Miss Granger slip her head through, hair pulled tidily back into a plait.

“Hermione,” Remus walked back up a step. “How is he?”

“We’ll be down soon.” She said softly, avoiding the question neatly. Was it the vow, Albus wondered? Or simply a lack of willingness to discuss Harry with them? “Just- give us a minute.”

Molly started to move as well, but Albus reached a hand to her shoulder and stopped her.

“As long as you need.” He said, sincerely.

Miss Granger- Hermione, he corrected himself. This was not Hogwarts, and if he could think of Harry by his first name without qualms, he could do the same for Harry’s closest friends- nodded and then slipped the door shut again.

Then, all there was left to do was wait.

As he’d said, Arthur had to leave for work. He kissed Molly goodbye and made them promise to owl or send a message if there was any need for him to return. With that reassurance in place, he left Albus, Remus and Molly to mill about the kitchen as they waited. With a flick of her wand Molly cleaned up the blood on her floor and soon it shone as if it had never been there at all.

Albus took a moment to look through the kitchen window and found that Severus must have left too. It was just as well, as Albus had no immediate plan for how to deal with what he had done. Part of him wished that the Potions Master had remained, if only to leave the man to stew in the Burrow’s backyard.

Remus allowed Molly to take a look at the scrapes and bruises he’d gotten in his altercation with Severus, and Molly seemed to benefit from being able to heal someone- even if it wasn’t her intended target. With bruise salve applied, Remus eye started to shift from purple to green, and he returned the tea towel to Molly with quiet thanks.

Then, with the sound of footfalls on the stairs, Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared.

They entered the kitchen nearly in-step with one another. Remus and Molly who had been sat at the kitchen table rose at the sight of them but made no other move. Albus, still at the window, turned to face them but he, too, felt himself stop short. He wanted to rush over… but something in the air- in the set of Harry’s shoulders, made him still.

If Harry was still hurt, it did not show. Albus watched carefully and saw no trace of a limp, not even the hint of a wound. Had Harry healed it himself? Perhaps, Albus thought, but the boy seemed too steady to have used any magic while still, technically, exhausted. That did not preclude the option of Hermione or Ron having done the healing… though if they did, it would have had to been wandless.

Two weeks ago, Albus would have discounted that theory out of hand, but now?

The silence that hung around them fell and shattered when Harry started speaking.

“The Dursleys,” he seemed to stop himself even before he started, and Albus’ own pulse began to race as Harry took a sharp breath. “Hated me.”

“Harry-” Remus’ voice broke over the word. Albus’s heart did the same.

“They never wanted me.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and stood, rooted firm in the doorway, even as his gaze roamed.Beside him, Hermione winced. “They didn’t ask for me. I was an uncalled-for burden to them, and they made sure that I knew it. They made my life-” he swallowed, and Albus could not focus on anything other than the way his chest rose and fell, rose and fell, faster and faster. “Hard. Growing up with them was hard. It was hard, and it… it _hurt_.”

Hurt. The word seemed to burrow its way to the very core of him and bloom outward, a slow poisoning that left him burning where he stood. They had hurt him. Of course they had, Albus had seen it with his own eyes in Petunia’s memories… but to hear Harry say it himself was a different sort of confirmation.

“That,” Harry’s voice hardened. “Is all you need to know about the Dursleys.”

Molly’s voice, when she spoke, was tight with emotion. “All we need to know, Harry?” she prompted gently.

“It’s all I’m going to tell you.” Harry shot back, but despite his tone his arms lowered from his chest to almost hug his own middle, a gesture that made him seem every bit his own age.Ron moved for what seemed to be the first time since he and Hermione had followed Harry into the room and reached out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry did not look back but seemed to settle slightly. Hermione, on Ron’s other side, stayed braced as she had been, one hip against the kitchen counter.

To Albus’s knowledge, the two of them had barely said four words since they’d arrived at the Burrow. If it was a vow, the terms must have been incredibly strict, and if it wasn’t… Albus could only be reminded of Sirius, bound to the last moment to the memory of the friend he had failed. How it had eaten at him, the damage far beyond what Azkaban had wrought.

Softly, ever so softly, Remus spoke. As if coaxing a frightened bird. “We just want to help, pup.”

But Harry just shrugged, a small gesture that seemed to move the entire world. “Too late for that, sir.”

It really was, wasn’t it? Albus mused, the dread and shame crawling up his spine inch by inch. He felt sick, as if he’d been tossed by the sea for weeks with no hint of land in sight. It was too late, far too late, to take action now. He’d let it happen. Turned a blind eye for so long… not seen any sign-

How had he never seen anything?

Never suspected?

In a flash, the thought transformed from self-flagellation into true demand.

How _had_ he never seen anything?

Before he could ask, though, Harry’s attention turned full force to him and Albus could not help but meet the gaze of the boy he’d failed. It was the least, the very least, of what he owed to Harry Potter.

“I’m not going to talk about the Dursleys.” Harry said firmly, and Albus felt that door shut and lock before he could even press against it. “But I said-” he faltered suddenly. “I promised I’d be honest. You said you’d believe me if I was honest.”

“I did.” Albus said faintly. “But Harry… I didn’t- your honesty is not a condition. I only meant-”

“I said I would, so I will.” Harry set his shoulders back and took a deep breath.

Albus wanted to keep protesting, to ensure that Harry understood. The boy had to understand- he’d been awake for what felt like an age when he’d asked for that promise. He hadn’t meant-

“The body you found at Privet Drive isn’t a person.” He said, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “It never was a person. It’s a Simulacrum.”

~*~*~*~*~

The offices of the Auror Corps were, on an average day, abuzz with activity.

Field officers’ desks, arraigned in four-person cubicle clusters, made up the bulk of the floor space, and almost the entirety of the headroom as parchment planes zipped overhead, ferrying messages from department to department. Requisitions and memorandums, inquiries and acknowledgements zoomed along the ceiling and between floors as the department went about the task of trying to maintain law and order- an increasingly difficult task.

Kingsley Shaklebolt, as a senior officer, was afforded a desk along the outside wall of the second floor. As the enchanted parchment planes tended to take the most direct route from point A to point B, being further from the center of the floor meant that Kingsley could usually stand and walk around his desk without having to dodge and weave between memos’.

Today, though, Kingsley stayed hunched over his desk, head kept low as he tried to keep his exhaustion at bay. The past three days had been… well, eventful seemed too bland a word, but turned out that all of those sleepless nights, all of the guilt, had been for nothing. Harry Potter hadn’t died. Somehow. Somehow the boy had lived, and while Kingsley would be forever grateful- he was also entirely, bone-numbingly tired. He, like most of the order, had not been able to truly rest until Dumbledore had confirmed that Harry Potter truly had not died.

How? Kingsley promised that he would ask the question when his eyelids no longer felt like 5-ton weights. If Potter was alive, so too was the hope that they could truly defeat the Dark Lord, and that was quite enough reassurance for the moment. He could get the particulars later.

“Shaklebolt.”

He bolted upright at the sound of his own name, the quill he’d been limply holding skittering across the half-written report on his desk.

He looked up and allowed his shoulders to slump forward once again.  
  
“Unspeakable Fir.” He nodded to the person standing next to his desk. Unspeakables, as a rule, could not be identified by age, sex or by any physical features. Whilst on duty they answered to pseudonyms, and always wore enchanted bracers that would obscure their face and voice from detection. Speaking to an Unspeakble was always an experience that needed practice, the lack of features to latch onto unsettling to some.

Unspeakable Fir, as they went by whilst working, had no face that Kingsley could discern through the enchantment. Instead, his mind interpreted what should have been nose, eyes and mouth as a blank space, a simple oval of flesh colored space and a voice that- neither male nor female, seemed to emanate from a distance. Whatever other discernable features that Kingsley might have been able to identify went beneath the thick, voluminous and dark uniform that each Unspeakable wore- all identical, save for simple silver name badges.

It wasn’t uncommon for an Unspeakable to come up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Kingsley had interacted with more than one on occasion that he had been chosen for specific cases by the Head of the Auror Office, but it was the first time he had been specifically been sought out by one.

“Are you free for a moment?” Fir asked him. “You were involved with Potter and the Hall of Prophecy, correct?” Kingsley nodded, curiosity piqued. The debacle at the Hall of Prophecy, and the subsequent confrontation with the Dark Lord was something he wouldn’t soon forget. “We have something-”

“Shaklebolt!”

Head Auror Foster’s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter of the floor. All went silent for a moment, but soon returned back to its noisy state. Foster was a good Head, and though her habit of demanding specific attention by bellowing across the bullpen was lacking in tact, it had been adopted as standard operating procedure without much fuss. Some Heads just liked to yell.

Kingsley stood and winced apologetically. “Sorry, Fir.” He said, his head suddenly latching on to how he was supposed to explain to the Head Auror why he had been assisting a known vigilante association- if even that was what she was going to ask. (As if he would be asked about anything else.) “Duty calls. I can come down later?”

Unspeakable Fir paused, and if Kingsley had to guess, seemed to look thoughtful. “Just… Needed to ask.” They said. “You were there with Potter, in the Death Room, yes?”

“Yes.” Kingsley said, slowly. It was common knowledge now, two years after the fact. He’d played it off as having heard the commotion whilst working late, but yes. He’d been there when Potter had fought the Dark Lord, when both the Prophecy and Sirius Black had been lost.

Unspeakable Fir nodded. “Yes, we thought so. We… well, I thought it might be prudent to confirm- Sirius Black was the only one to enter the Veil that day, correct? No Death Eaters went through as well?”

It was an odd affectation of the Unspeakables, statements that were truly questions, always ended with the demand that whomever they were questioning verify them completely. Rarely was life so black and white. Oftentimes speaking to an Unspeakable was like talking to a brick wall, but, in this case, Kingsley could reply honestly.

“Correct.” He said, quietly. “Sirius Black was the only one who went through the veil.” There was no fear of reprisal from the Unspeakables, who held no allegiance to the DMLE, or even- if some were to be believed- the Ministry, but Kingsley knew that admitting to fraternizing with an Azkaban escapee (innocent or not) would not reflect well with his peers.

“ _SHACKLEBOLT_!” Foster’s voice seemed to shake the lights around them.

“Go on then,” Kingsley would have bet money that Unspeakable Fir was smiling but could not prove it. Their body language gave nothing away. “That’s all we needed. No use keeping Foster waiting any longer.”

Kingsley wanted to ask why- why had they asked about something that had happened so long ago? How had they known that he had been there? What use was it now? The Veil had- according to the ever-present gossip within the Ministry- been a mystery longer than the Ministry had even existed. Why the sudden interest?

But Unspeakables were inscrutable, and Head Auror Foster would not wait forever.

So, with a quick nod of farewell Kingsley started off to the Head Auror’s office and forced himself to think of the here and now- the past was the past…

And the Veil was a one-way street.

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing is based on a thought that the Dursleys weren’t just negligent, but cruel and that Ron and Hermione were a bit more oberservant and cutthroat
> 
> Its going to be, outwardly, canon up until the end of OOTP but will veer wildly from there. I’m not playing with Horcruxes but something much much bigger. This thing, in my head, is huge. It’s also unbeta’d! Lol. So, if there are mistakes or formatting issues or whatever, its all me. 
> 
> Also, its in the tags but I figure I’ll say it here. I’ve been a fan of Harry Potter for 20ish years. I love the universe, but I recognize the issues that have been brought up about it and with JKR’s beliefs herself. I do not share these beliefs. I’m just fucking around with a storyline that’s been in my brain since I was in high school.


End file.
